Star Wars: Eternal Pilgrim
by SWProfessor
Summary: Jamous Devven is an archeologist born on the ancient planet of Tython. A mysterious event grants him the gift of immortality, causing Jamous to find himself in major events all across the Star Wars Timeline. This massive project spans many genres: Action, Drama, Romance, Adventure, and Tragedy.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note_

 _This story I am writing is an idea I had: what if someone lived through the entire Star Wars Legends timeline, from Dawn of the Jedi to Legacy? For those who have read the story before, I condensed all five chapters into two chapters up on request to make the chapters longer. Enjoy! I try to be as accurate as possible so if anything whether timeline, events, equipment, etc. is incorrect, please let me know so I can correct it. I'll shout you out here in the Author's Note. Please let me know what you think! All feedback is welcomed._

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

35,400 B.B.Y.

Jamous Devven smacked his glow lamp. It blinked a few times and then retained a solid beam of light, though not as bright as before. He let out a curse as he mounted the light back on his protective helmet. This was not good, not good at all. He checked the heavy duty chrono on his wrist. Eight hours. That was the time that had passed since he had delved deep into the catacombs underneath the ruins of the Old City. Eight hours and still no sight in end. The farther he travelled, the deeper into Tython's crust he descended. Normally, that wouldn't be a big deal. Normally, he could just turn around and head right back out in the city. But this wasn't any normal situation.

Tython was notorious for its storms. Storms, powerful in the Force, would rage across its surface. These storms were notorious for the havoc that they would cause. It was one of the reasons that caused Tython to be such a dangerous planet to inhabit, especially non-Force users like Jamous.

 _We weren't meant to stay here . . ._

One thousand years ago, Jamous's ancestors and a plethora of other species inherently powerful in the Force were brought to Tython by transport of eight mysterious ships called the Tho Yor. No one knew the pyramidal transports' origin, only that they had traversed the far reaches of the galaxy, collecting beings sensitive in the Force and passing through the dark matter surrounding the core of the galaxy, leaving their Force sensitive cargo stranded on Tython, a planet deep in the core of the known galaxy. As the years passed, those brought to Tython realized their passage was meant to bring them together to study the Force itself. They called themselves Je'daii, a combination of two Bendu words: "mystic" and "center." Soon, temples had been constructed around the planet, and children were meant to start a pilgrimage across the planet to reach each temple, becoming more knowledgeable in different aspects of the Force.

This was all well and good except for people like Jamous, those not sensitive to the pull and sway of the Force. Not every descendant of those who first came to Tython were very powerful in the Force. Some couldn't feel it at all. They were stranded on Tython, with no purpose. Talks had started circulating that non-Force users should move from Tython to the other eleven planets that inhabited the Tython system. But that was just talk, talk that could take years to turn into action. So for now, people like Jamous were stranded on Tython, forced to take a backseat to the Je'daii, forced to live under their protection. Without the Je'daii, non-Force users would succumb to the perils of Tython, either the dangerous beasts or the fury of the Force storms . . .

Storms like the one currently raging across Tython's surface. Storms like the one that had just caused rumbles in the earth to collapse the tunnel behind Jamous, separating him from the rest of his archeological team and blocking off escape back to the surface of Tython.

 _Nowhere to go but down._

Since Jamous was not powerful in the Force, his career options had been limited, but there was one thing that had interested him: archeology. The ruins of the Old City had enraptured Jamous since he had been a child. What wasn't interesting about the remains of an ancient civilization that had inhabited Tython thousands of years before his ancestors had arrived? Jamous had studied at the fledgling Tython Archeological University. It was through this establishment that Jamous was given the opportunities to study the ruins of the Old City. Though not really sanctioned by the leaders of the Je'daii, the school of archeology had started expeditions into the ruins of the Old City and recently into the catacombs below it. Jamous had been on many of these expeditions, but this was the first time they had decided to do a deep dive into the catacombs. And of course, the first time they decide to is the time when one of the fiercest Force storms in recent years decides to rock Tython.

Jamous knew he was most likely dead. The chances of him finding another way out of the catacombs were slim to none. He did the only thing he could do: keep heading deeper in. But that had been four hours ago. His glow lamp was dying, and he was running out of food and water. He was most likely going to succumb to thirst and die in the pitch black of the catacombs.

Another tremor caused by the storm rolled through the tunnel, causing Jamous to stumble. He let out a string of curses as he tried to regain his balance. But that never happened. The ground beneath Jamous broke from trembling to buckling, and it soon caved in around him. He suddenly found himself in a free fall deep into the abyss. A choked cry escaped Jamous's lips, and then all went black.

When he woke up, he couldn't say how much time had passed: his chrono had broken. Pain and spasms electrified through Jamous's back as he tried to sit up. It was excruciating, and he laid back down in defeat. Somehow in some way, Jamous had survived the fall. He didn't know how far the fall was, but he could only see black when he looked up so it had to have been a substantial distance. His glow light had gone out, but he could still see. It didn't make sense. He should be surrounded in darkness, but there was just enough light that he could see enough of his surroundings, as if he were out in the night during full moons. After a while, Jamous attempted to sit back up, and this time he was successful.

When he finally managed to get to his feet, he realized that the reason he could see faintly was due to a light source emanating far down the tunnel that exited the cavern he had fallen into. Bracing himself along the wall, Jamous slowly walked into the tunnel and towards the light. As he got closer, the light grew brighter, but it felt like he wasn't getting any closer to the source. He tripped as the floor transitioned from the rough catacomb ground to a smooth carved stone flooring. Jamous bent down and touched the floor. "Interesting," he muttered as he looked at the walls and ceiling, noticing that he was now in a sentient-built hallway.

 _I must be back into the structures of the Old City,_ he thought to himself. _Maybe I'm in an underground chamber underneath one of the large ziggurats near the center of the city._

He continued down the hallway until it opened up into a large chamber. There were no furnishings, no luxurious trappings, though the inside of the chamber didn't look as worn down and old as the facade of all the ziggurats encompassing the city. In the center of the chamber was a pyramidal platform with about one hundred stairs on all four sides ascending to the top of the it. The platform was almost like a sacred pedestal. At the top, in the center, was something Jamous thought he would never see, something most people denied the existence of.

"It can't be . . ."

A hypergate. Said to be built by an ancient alien civilization, hypergates were supposedly able to transport someone instantaneously out of the Tython system and into different parts of the galaxy. But those were only rumours. Even the leaders of the Je'daii didn't acknowledge them as even slightly true.

As Jamous slowly walked to the platform, the device, or the hypergate, activated as he put his foot onto the first of the one hundred steps up to the top. He paused for a second, waiting for something perilous to happen, and then continued on when all seemed safe. The climb to the top was difficult due to the injuries he had sustained from his fall, but Jamous noticed a few things about this hypergate once he got to the top and inspected it more closely.

The first thing he noticed was that the hypergate may not be a hypergate at all. From the studies he had done on the myths of the hypergate, they were more oval-shaped in nature. There were also markings considered to be "alien" in nature associated with hypergates. The device before him had a diamond-shaped outline. There was a morphing barrier that filled the outlines that Jamous assumed to be the portal itself. The portal was a color that he had never seen before: a mixture of fushia and pink with hints of the blood red of a sunset. There were no markings on or anywhere around the device. It's outlining structure was a dull silver, no embellishments could be found on it.

Another rumble shook the chamber and small bits of stone fell from the ceiling. A loud crash echoed throughout, and Jamous looked to see the hallway he had entered into the chamber by collapse in on itself. The storm must have been hell outside. He let out a sigh. No way of getting out now. There didn't seem to be an exit anywhere else.

After thinking about his options, Jamous did the only thing he could: he entered the portal before him. Little did he know the life- and history-changing impact it would have, not only on him, but also on the entire galaxy . . .

—

When Jamous stepped into the portal of the device, he had no clue what was going to happen. "Stepped in" is misleading: the second he had put his hand into the portal, it seemed to him that the portal enveloped him, pulling him through against his will. What happened next to Jamous took many years to comprehend.

White encompassed him and then suddenly the entire galaxy burst open before him. It was as if he was racing through the entire galaxy while also seeing every meter of it. He saw planets and species that he somehow knew the names of. It was unexplainable, but he knew it all, as if he had suddenly learned everything _about_ everything.

He saw the galaxy form. He saw the first forms of life in the galaxy come into existence on Goroth Prime. He saw a giant asteroid smash into the surface of the planet Vinsoth, nearly wiping out all of life on it. He saw the ancestor of the Human species known as Zhell on their home planet of Notron, fighting another species called the Taung. He saw the Zhells evolve into Humans, building layers and layers of towers on their planet, calling it Galactic City. He saw Humans inhabit the planet of Utupau, finally occupying another planet besides their own. He saw a species known as the Kwa fleeing from Tython through an Infinity Gate back to their homeworld of Dathomir. He saw them devolve over thousands of years into the sentient species of the Kwi. He saw what they were running from: the Rakata. An alien race that looked fierce and intimidating. He saw the Rakata obliterate the Kwa and another race that had given them their advanced technology: the Gree.

Jamous saw all of this upon his entrance into the portal. He knew every detail of what he had seen by some inexplicable reason. But now, he was no longer travelling through the galaxy. He was leaving it. Jamous was pulled farther and farther out of the known galaxy and more into darkness. Fear clenched his heart as black transitioned to white and then from white to a moving spectrum of colors. And then, as fast as it had begun, it stopped. Jamous's metaphysical journey through time and space was over. But where was he now?

It seemed to be that he was in a desert that stretched on for thousands of kilometers. It went on forever in all directions. Dunes rolled on for what seemed an eternity every which way Jamous looked. It was a scorched place, yet he didn't feel hot or uncomfortable. In fact, Jamous felt more comfortable in this wasteland than he had in the cold underground chamber beneath the Old City.

"Stranger."

Jamous turned to the voice behind him. There, amongst an oasis of grass and trees, sat an older man in a heavy, wooden chair. He had electric blue eyes and adorned a pointy hat, almost like a crown or mark of authority. A long pointed beard covered half of his face and trailed down to the middle of his chest. He looked Human in form, but in his eyes, in the way he carried himself, he exuded power and longevity. Jamous did not know what to say.

The man motioned to him. "Come closer."

Slowly, tentatively, Jamous walked towards the man. He felt the crunchy sand give way to soft green grass under his feet as he entered the oasis. Behind the man, there sat a small, crystal clear pond. It gave life to the trees and grass around it.

After a long pause, Jamous asked, "Who are you? Where am I?"

The old man ran his fingers through his beard. "Who am I? My name is Mortis. As to where you are? A place where none of your kind has been before."

Jamous itched the back of his head and looked around. "It seemed like I was leaving the known galaxy. I saw a lot of things. Events that have happened across galactic history."

"What you saw was my knowledge, my experiences. The things that I've seen."

Jamous balked. "That you've _seen_? Many of the things that I saw happened millions of years ago."

Mortis stood up and motioned to Jamous. "Come. Walk with me." They walked past the chair and deeper into the oasis. It was an anomaly. From outside, the oasis seemed small, a brief respite from the desert, but the deeper he and Mortis walked into it, the larger it became. Soon it was as if they were no longer in a desert at all but instead a grassy forest.

"I know you have many questions, Jamous," Mortis said after they had walked side-by-side for a few minutes. Jamous didn't remember telling him his name. "I know you wonder why you're here. And to be honest, you're here by pure chance. There is no 'fate,' no 'destiny,' that guided you here. Some would say it was the guidance of the Force, but it was none of that. You are here by utter coincidence."

"And what will happen to me now?" Jamous asked nervously. "Are you even human?"

Mortis smirked. "No, I am not human, Jamous. I am a species that has not been discovered or theorized of yet. But I will be one day. And you will live to see that day, as well as many other things."

Jamous stopped walking. "What do you mean?"

"Jamous." Mortis looked deep into his eyes. "For many, many years have I waited for someone to come here. Just like the portal you entered, I planted several of them across the galaxy, waiting for someone or something to find his way here. It took longer than I expected, but you are here now."

"But why am I here?"

Mortis put his hands on Jamous's shoulders. "You are here, not by anything but chance. This gift you will gain, is for no other reason than coincidence. What you do with it is up to you and only you. The gift of eternal life. Immortality."

Before Jamous could reply, before he could ask as to why Mortis was giving him this gift, before he could comprehend the implications of Mortis's statement, an excruciating and agonizing pain racked through his whole body. His arms and legs involuntarily became outstretched. He felt his body lift off the ground, rising five or six feet into the air. He saw Mortis looking up at him, wearing a grin of subterfuge. And after that, Jamous didn't see anything else. Everything just went black.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note_

 _I know that there has not been as much action in the first chapter. If action is what you love in fan fiction, then hold out, because as the story progresses, there will be more of it. I try to be as accurate as possible with Legends material. If you see anything wrong with events, dates, or equipment, please let me know so I can fix it. Thank you!_

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

35,400 B.B.Y.

When Jamous awoke, he sat up with a start. Pain rippled through his chest as he did, and he instinctively clutched at it. He laid back down and took a survey of his surroundings. He seemed to be in a small hut. Birds' song and the calm rustling of a forest breeze sounded their way in through the hut's windows.

"So, you're awake?"

Jamous turned to see a Twi'lek male enter the doorway of the hut. His two lekkus fell behind his back, and there were wrinkles in his pale green features.

"Where am I?" Jamous pushed himself onto his elbows.

The Twi'lek sat down on a roughly-made stool next to Jamous's cot. "Edge Forest," he replied, setting his travel bag down.

"Masara?" Jamous asked in bewilderment.

"Correct."

"But how did I get here? I was at the Old City?"

The Twi'lek let out a snort. "Talss? No, no, no, you must have your continents mixed up. This is Masara, not Talss."

"I know that. But I was at the Old City."

"The name's Delroth," the Twi'lek said, ignoring his last statement. "I found you unconscious by the creek."

"How long ago was that?"

Delroth scratched his neck. "Hmm, three days go. You've been slipping in and out of consciousness, muttering the craziest things."

"I see."

"You must be a Seer of some sort. You were prophesying the future in your unconscious mutterings."

Jamous sat all the way up and set his feet on the dirt floor of the hut. "No, I am not. I am not a Je'daii. I cannot feel the Force."

Delroth let out a long fit of laughter. "I may not have had any contact with other Je'daii in decades, but I can still feel the Force in someone. I know when it is inside someone, and you have been exuding waves of the Force since I found you."

"You have to be mistaken," Jamous replied. "It just isn't possible."

"As impossible as you being in Talss one moment and then in Masara the next?" The Twi'lek had a twinkle in his eye.

Jamous scoffed. He slowly stood up from his bed. He looked to see that his clothes had been replaced by a loose fitting sack-cloth shirt and tapered cotton pants. "What happened to my clothes?"

"You were naked when I found you."

"I see . . ."

Jamous pushed aside the fabric curtain and walked out the doorway. His bare feet felt soft, cool grass, and a sigh of awe escaped his lips. The Twi'lek's hut lay in small valley. In front of the hut was haphazard group of cascading waterfalls. They all fell into a small lake. Flowers and trees sprung up all over. Jamous had never been to the continent of Masara, but he now knew that the reports of its beauty were under exaggerated.

He walked down to the shores of the lake. There was a small dock that extended out along the lake's surface. Jamous walked to the end of it and sat down, putting his feet into the water. It was so clear that he could see all the way to the bottom of the lake. Delroth soon sat down cross-legged beside him.

"You seem distressed . . . confused."

"You wouldn't understand even if I _tried_ to explain it to you," Jamous replied.

Delroth was silent for a moment, then said, "I am a hermit. A Je'daii in self-inflicted exile. I came to this place so that I could better understand the ways of the Force, both the light and dark, Ashla and Bogan, balance. I can feel that the Force has touched you, Jamous. There is something about you, a destiny weighs heavy on you."

Jamous looked at his feet as he moved them back and forth in the cool water of the lake. "I don't even know where to begin. And no matter what you say, I really don't believe you'll think I am telling the truth."

Delroth stood up. "It's okay. You are too weak to travel, and you're welcome to stay here until then."

—

Two weeks had passed since Jamous had woken up in Delroth's hut. Since that time, he had gained more of his strength back. The first night that he had bathed, he noticed a deep gash down his sternum that had been freshly sewn up. Upon asking Delroth about it, the Twi'lek told him that when he had found Jamous, there had been a gaping wound in his chest and that Delroth had taken him back to his hut and sewn the wound shut.

"I'm not an expert in the healing arts, but I did my best," Delroth had said. "The stitching will hold and the wound has been sterilized, but there will be a large scar."

Jamous had helped Delroth in his dealings around his hut. The old Je'daii grew his own vegetables, and Jamous helped him tend the garden. They would spend their nights out on the dock, fishing and smoking tobacco leaves. It was on one of these nights that Jamous told Delroth the events in the catacombs under the Old City: the device that transported him to the desert oasis, and the supposed gift of immortality from Mortis.

Delroth listened to all of this in silence, occasionally pulling up his fishing line and then casting it back into the lake. "Jamous . . ."

Jamous looked out onto the lake. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me."

"It's not that I don't believe you, but when I found you by the creek, your chest was split open. You were nearly dead!"

Jamous pulled on his fishing rod. "I know. But Mortis said 'immortality,' not 'invincibility.' And those are two differences that I'd rather not test."

Delroth let out a slight chuckle. "You truly believe these things happened to you? What if they were a vision? From the Force? A dream, maybe?"

"Delroth, I can not feel the Force. I can not have these Force visions that you speak of."

"Jamous, I can feel the Force in you. It is quiet, but very powerful. You are just untrained. It is not too late to start the Great Journey. Start travelling from temple to temple, grow in knowledge of the Force. The Je'daii can help you make sense of these visions."

Jamous stood up. "I have no reason to follow in the ways of the Je'daii. My ancestors may have been Je'daii themselves, but I am deaf to the Force."

Delroth himself stood up and put his hand on Jamous's shoulder. "Destiny clouds all around you, Jamous. I can feel it. It is hard to see into your future due to the thick cloud of fate that covers you."

Before Jamous could reply, they both heard a piercing cry fill the night. It sounded like that of a young girl. She cried out again.

"Help! Help!" her voice could be heard behind Delroth's hut and in the forest.

They both raced up to the hut. Delroth reached under his cot and pulled out a sword wrapped in sackcloth. It was of solid metal and a faint glow emanated from it.

"A sword forged from Vur Tepe?" Jamous asked.

"Yes," Delroth replied. He gave it to Jamous.

Jamous took the blade. "Why are you giving me this? I can't fight! I don't know how to use this." He looked at the blade. It was a color of cool silver with a midnight black handle. There were no embellishments or transcriptions on the blade itself.

"You'll need it either way. Someone is in need of our help. And who knows what we'll find in the forest. It is a dangerous place at night." Delroth went to the corner of the hut and grabbed his own weapon. It looked to be some form of miniature halberd about a meter long. The spear and axe blades of the halberd had the same glow about them as the sword he had given Jamous.

They exited the hut and heard the young girl's cry again. Racing into the trees, they entered a small oval-shaped clearing. In the center of the clearing lay a small girl on the ground. She was backpedaling on her hands, trying to escape the wrath of a horranth. Horranths were dangerous, carnivorous reptiles indigenous to Tython. They had massive mouths filled with sharp teeth which they used to shred up their prey. Long sharp claws grew from all four of their legs.

The young girl pulled herself backwards as the horranth raised itself up on its back legs and let out a roar. Her right leg was tattered and bloody. In the blink of an eye, Delroth was gone from Jamous's side and in between the young girl and the horranth. He twisted his halberd in a complex series of flourishes.

"Jamous," he said not looking back. "Grab the girl. Put her behind you and protect her."  
Jamous did as he said. He picked the child up and set her down at the edge of the clearing. Awkwardly brandishing the sword that Delroth had given him, he stood in front of her and watched Delroth take on the horranth. The beast swiped at Delroth, and he easily ducked underneath the oafish attack. The beast charged it's head at him, and he stepped aside with ease. But right when Jamous thought that Delroth would bring the axed blade of the halberd down on the beast's midsection, he stopped, let the horranth rush past him, and looked to Jamous with a nod.

"Delroth . . . what are you doing?" It was then that Jamous realized that the horranth was charging at him. He let out quick breaths as the beast charged toward him. It growled as saliva dripped from its mouth. The young girl behind Jamous began to whimper.

Before Jamous could call out to Delroth, a vision flashed before him. It was as if he had stepped outside of himself. He could see the beast charging at him. He saw it swipe with it's right claw and then lunge it's neck out, jaw open, teeth ready to sink into his flesh. And then, just as fast as it had begun, it was over. The beast was still in mid-charge. But Jamous wasn't worried anymore. He had seen what the beast was going to do. He didn't know how or why, but he already knew what his opponent was about to do.

The horranth swiped it's right claw, and Jamous ducked underneath it. When the beast stretched its neck out and brought its teeth down upon him, Jamous rolled to the left. He stood up quickly and brought the blade down on the horranth's midsection. He let out a cry of battle as the blade sunk into its flesh. The blade itself seemed to cleave right through skin, muscle, and bone, carving the horranth in half. It was so quick that the beast did not even have time to so much as let out a whimper. The two halves of it fell to the ground with a thud, and the forest was quiet save for Jamous's heavy breathing and the young girl's quiet cries.

Delroth walked over to Jamous. "Good work."  
"What the hell, Delroth?" Jamous said stepping back. "Why didn't you kill the beast when you had chance?"

The Twi'lek walked over to the girl and picked her up. She was bleeding quite heavily from her leg. He exited the clearing without another word.

—

Delroth had bandaged the young girl's leg. He had fed her as well. When she had fallen asleep, warm in his cot, he stepped outside the hut. Jamous stood on the dock, smoking tobacco wrapped in paper made from the bark of the forest trees.

"She is on the Great Journey, headed towards the temple of Bodhi. She got lucky that we were around when she was attacked."

Jamous exhaled smoke. "Why did you let the beast attack like that? You could have gotten me and her killed."

"But that didn't happen. Jamous, you had a premonition from the Force. You became one with the Force and slew the horranth. Your combat skills need work, but you were able to use the Force and defeat your opponent."  
"Well, I don't know about that." He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled.

Delroth pulled out a cigarette of his own and lit it. "Look," he said as smoke escaped from his lips. "If what you say is true, if everything that happened to you in the Old City really happened, then you have a long journey ahead of you. I sense that you will go through a lot of dangerous events. You need some sort of training." Before Jamous could interrupt him, Delroth held up his hand. "I'm not asking you to learn the ways of the Force. I'm not telling you to become a Je'daii. What I'm saying is to let me train you in combat, in survival skills. You are a scholar, not a fighter. You're missing the crucial skills you'll need on the journey before you."

Jamous dropped the butt of his cigarette on the ground and mashed it with his sandal. He looked at Delroth. "Okay, I'll take you up on that."

The Twi'lek smiled as he exhaled smoke. He held out his hand and Jamous shook it. "We start tomorrow."

—

35,395 B.B.Y.

Five years had passed since Jamous had agreed to train under Delroth, and they passed like none of the years before had. First, they went by fast. It didn't seem to Jamous that he had lost the years. It didn't feel like he had aged. He didn't count the years as days gone but days gained. Every day that passed, he felt stronger, wiser, smarter. The past five years, Delroth had trained him in combat. They would grow vegetables and catch fish. Any vegetables and fish they had left over, they would take an hour's walk north to a small village called Trevla. They'd trade with villagers for whatever they couldn't grow or catch on their own: blankets, medical supplies, even cigarettes when their tobacco harvest was not as plentiful.

The first few months that Jamous had started training with Delroth, the Twi'lek would occasionally bring up the Force and Jamous's unhoned affinity for it. But after Jamous kept shutting down the conversation and forcefully asking the subject not to be brought up, Delroth stopped his urging of Jamous to pursue an understanding of the Force. Although he did train Jamous in combat. Jamous practiced acrobatics, reflexes, awareness, sword play, and a plethora of other exercises to heighten his ability as a warrior. After three years, it became less of training and more of sparring. Jamous found a close friend in Delroth and Delroth in him. He could have left Delroth's hut and started the journey back to the continent of Talss, but Jamous enjoyed his time of isolation and contemplation. The hermitage was doing him good, and he didn't feel like he was wasting time. Time didn't mean anything to him anymore. Jamous couldn't explain it. It was as if an involuntary shift in mindset had occurred. Time meant absolutely nothing to him. It felt like something he would never run out of. And that's why he was in no rush to go anywhere. Living off the earth, fishing, training in combat, spending late nights on the dock with the old Twi'lek as they smoked and drank, it was all so wholesome and fulfilling.

"Something's not right." Delroth's voice broke Jamous's thoughts. They had been travelling to Trevla to trade with the villagers. They were not far from the village. It was almost within site. "I hear nothing. No activity." The Twi'lek sniffed in the air. "You smell that?"

Jamous sniffed around. "Yeah, smells like smoke." As if by suggestion, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled smoke and then let it out. "What do you want to do?"

He took another drag of the cigarette and then handed it to Delroth. The Twi'lek took it and inhaled. "We approach slowly." He took one last large drag, finishing up the cigarette, and then stubbing it out in the dirt path. "I never smoked so much until you came around, you know that?"

Jamous smiled. "Come on."

The village came into site, and they both saw that things were indeed not right at all. The trees had covered the smoke from the distance, but now that Delroth and Jamous were up close they could see its source. Many of the huts had been lit on fire. The fire had died down, and what was left were the embers in the remains of the huts. But that wasn't the worst of it. Corpses were littered everywhere. The men of the village had blade wounds or blaster wounds. They all laid strewn about the ruins of the village. All the corpses of the women were naked. It was apparent that they had been raped before their deaths. Jamous stopped before the corpse of one woman. Her skin was white, and she lay on the ground staring at the sky, arms and legs spread out. There was major bruising on her crotch.

Jamous looked away, sickened. "Who would do something like this?"

Delroth didn't reply. He stared in horror at the center of the village where the well was. All the children of the village had been gathered there. Their bodies lay motionless, throats slit. Amongst the corpses was planted a white flag with the word chiaps on it, Bendu for "unchained."

Delroth let out a sigh and cursed. "The Black Doth'won."

"The who?"

"A group of supposed freedom fighters. Rapists and looters is more like it. They're non-Force users who say that their goal is to shake the supposed regime of the Je'daii. As you can see," Delroth motioned towards the corpses, "they have more pressing matters than fighting Je'daii."

The body of a young human girl caught Jamous's eye. She had to have been no more than three years old. Her blonde, curly hair was matted with mud and blood. He was suddenly filled with rage. "They can't be far. We're maybe three or four hours behind them? They will soon be setting up camp for the night, I'm sure. I see no signs of transports. Maybe they even have a base camp near here."

Delroth looked at him. "What do you want to do, Jamous?"

"Hunt."

—

Delroth tracked the footprints of the bandits, and Jamous followed him. They travelled deep into the forest before they came across the Black Doth'won's campsite. Upon seeing the campfire in the center of all the tents, Jamous and Delroth ducked into the bushes. They creeped through the brush, closer to the edges of the camp. Years of forest living had made their footsteps almost completely silent.

There were about ten tents surrounding the fire. The members of Black Doth'won, humans, twi'leks, rodians, and others, were standing or sitting or laying around the fire. Some were asleep; some were smoking and drinking; and some were standing with blasters in hand, keeping guard of the camp's perimeter.

"I see about twenty of them," Jamous whispered towards Delroth.

"Twenty three," he replied. "I sense a few life forces in the tents. Look." The twi'lek pointed to a speeder filled with crates of stolen goods. "It looks like Trevla isn't the only village that they've visited recently."

Upon seeing the stolen goods, Jamous was reminded of the body of the little girl he had seen in Trevla. He felt his entire body clench with white hot rage. Delroth looked to him. "I feel powerful waves of the Force rolling off you. They're terribly dark."

Jamous looked at him. "These kriffing raiders are going through Edge Forest and plundering each village they come across. Why haven't the Je'daii done anything about this?"

"Jamous, this isn't the time for this kind of discussion."

"You're right. We need to take care of these guys."

Delroth watched as Jamous unsheathed the sword from his back. "You want to kill them all?"

"They are upsetting the balance of the forest. It has to be done."

Delroth let out a sad chuckle as he brandished his halberd. "And you say that you want no part of the Force. We need to take out the four raiders guarding the perimeter. You take the two closest to us. I'll get the others." Without another another word the twi'lek melted into the brush. Jamous could not even hear him moving through the forest.

Nature was on Jamous's side. It was near midnight, and neither of the moons were out. The only light casting illumination was from the raiders' campfire, casting shadows across the forest floor. The first sentry was a rodian. He brandished a basic blaster rifle and had his back to Jamous. There was the sound of metal against bare skin, and Jamous set the rodian quietly to the ground, the raider's green blood spewing from his neck all over Jamous's hands and sleeves. He crept to the next sentry and did the same. The human male let out a gurgle as Jamous's blade sliced across his throat and then fell.

It was at this point Jamous heard the shriek of a woman. He looked to the center of the camp from the shadows and saw one of the raiders drag a naked woman from the tent. The other raiders laughed and a few of them began to unbuckle the belts of their pants. Pure, hot hatred boiled in Jamous's veins. He threw stealth to the wind and began a brisk walk to the center of the camp. The raiders were too busy with the entertainment of the scared woman that they didn't notice. The nearest raider to Jamous had his pants around his ankles and was about to grab the woman when Jamous's sword sliced clean through his nexk. The other raiders stopped laughing and looked to see the headless corpse of their mate fall to the ground.

They didn't even have much time to react. The carnage had begun. Jamous cleaved diagonally through a twi'lek's torso. He pirouetted to his left and lunged his blade through a human raider's heart. The raider that was holding the woman let go of her and began to make a break for the tents, Jamous cut threw his abdomen, severing the man in half from the hips up. By now, the remaining raiders had either grabbed a weapon or began running for escape into the forest.

A slicing pain ripped across Jamous's forearm, and he could feel the warmth of his blood run down his wrist. He turned to his right to see a rodian menacingly holding a hunting knife, Jamous's blood coating the blade. The raider lunged at Jamous again. He stepped to the side and brought his blade down on the rodian's wrist, severing his hand. The rodian let out a cry cut short due to Jamous's sword piercing his throat. Two more raiders charged at him, and he quickly dispatched of them with precision. One last raider was almost to the edge of the camp, security of the cover of the forest within reach. Jamous lifted his sword two-hands above his head and threw it. The blade flew in the air in a twirl. Before the man could make it into the forest, Jamous's sword pierced the center or his back, came out his chest, and entered into a tree, pinning the raider. The raider let out gurgle and died. All was quiet.

Delroth appeared from the other side of the camp and examined the slaying before him. "I managed to get nine of them escaping, but two got away."

Jamous did not reply. Instead he walked over to the naked woman who was whimpering in a ball in the dirt next to the campfire. He leaned down on his knee slowly. "Everything's okay. They're not going to hurt you." He put his hand on the woman's shoulder.

She suddenly shrieked and lashed out at him. "Leave me alone! You monster! Get away!"

Jamous was taken aback. "We're here to help. There's no reason to be afraid anymore."

The woman crawled back away from Jamous. "Don't touch me! You Je'daii freak! Leave me alone!" She got on her feet and disappeared into the forest.

Jamous sat there on his knees dumbfounded, staring into the trees. He looked down at himself and realized he was covered in blood, his own and the raiders'. He felt Delroth's hand on his shoulder.

"Sometimes you realize that before history is written, there are no heroes." He handed Jamous a lit cigarette. "Only monsters."

—

35,390 B.B.Y.

For ten years Jamous had trained with Delroth. The twi'lek had taught Jamous everything he knew. Combat, survival, stealth. Everything but the Force. It was the only edge Delroth had on Jamous. But Jamous also had an edge: his age. Jamous had seen Delroth age the past ten years, and Delroth had seen Jamous _not_ age at all. He still looked and felt the same as he had the day he had entered the catacombs even though he was now thirty-five years old. Delroth himself now had to walk with a cane. Age had finally caught up with the Je'daii. Even though Jamous had been with Delroth for ten years, he still didn't know much about him. But that was about to change.

They had travelled a day's journey south to Lake Habyan. It would normally not have taken so long, but with Delroth now using a cane, they had to take their time to get there.

"Are you sure about this?" Jamous asked as he stubbed out his finished cigarette.

The old twi'lek let out a rough laugh. "I've travelled through many villages in my forty years as a hermit, and every village has the same legend though maybe told differently."

Jamous waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah, a big mythological fish in Lake Habyan. You've been telling me about the legend for ten years. What I want to know is if your back won't blow out trying to reel it in, old man," he teased.

"Laugh all you want, you ageless freak. Tonight, we're going to dine on so much fish that you'll grow some gills."

"And maybe you'll grow a new back," Jamous muttered.

"What was that?"

Jamous laughed. "Are you ears going out too, you old bag?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Laugh all you want, but when I'm dead and gone, finally at sweet peace, you'll still be here. Wandering around, aimless."

Jamous smiled. The first few years, Delroth had not believed him. But as time had progressed, the twi'lek saw with his own eyes how he had aged and Jamous had not. "I'm excited."

"Why?"

"Because where will we be in one thousand years? Maybe we will have colonized other planets in the system!"

"Bah!" Delroth let out a grumpy old scoff. "The Je'daii belong on Tython. It's how we master the balance of light and dark."

"I know that, Delroth, but there have been rumours of sending non-Force users off-planet. It's dangerous for us here. We can not survive the storms and many of the beasts like you Je'daii can."

"You could be a Je'daii too, Jamous. But we've had that conversation too many times."

There was a bend in the forest path, and as they rounded it, a beautiful valley with a large crystal lake opened up before them.

Jamous let out an exclamation of awe. "The lake is huge."

"Big enough to hold this supposed fish. Come on."

The two made their way down to the lakeshore. There was a dock of durasteel that could disconnect and float out to the middle of the lake. It wasn't long before they were out on the water, fishing lines cast, waiting for their catch.

As the hours passed, the two discussed many different topics: the idea of one day leaving the Tython system; the recent respite of major storms on the planet; the different Je'daii temples. Finally, for the first time in ten years, Delroth opened up about his past.

"I'm seventy years old now, Jamous. The selfish part of me does not want to be forgotten. I know that if I tell you my story, I won't be forgotten."

He lit a new cigarette. Jamous was silent and waited for him to continue.

"I used to be a temple master at Bodhi. I had a passion for the arts. For ten years I taught journeyers coming through. I look back on those years with great fondness." He paused. "Je'daii discourage the intermarriage of Force users and non-Force users. Some say that is totalitarian, but I understand why to a certain degree."

"Yes," Jamous interjected. "My father was a politician, and my mother was a Je'daii. As their child, I was born without the ability to communicate with the Force."

Delroth raised his eyebrows. "You're inability to use the Force is doubtful, but yes, you are right. When two Je'daii have a child, the chances of it not being able to use the Force are very rare. When a Je'daii and non-Force user have a child, that risk of it's lack in ability to use the Force rises tremendously." He took a drag from his cigarette. "I was never one to break the rules. I was never a 'free-thinking' Je'daii. But one day I met a woman from a village near Bodhi. Her name was Tali." There was a pause. "I'll skip the romance story, but we fell in love and got married. Not long after we had a baby girl." There was a nostalgic smile on Delroth's face and his eyes misted over. "We were happy. So happy. But the Force held a different plan for me."

"What happened, Delroth?"

"A Force storm ended up destroying the village, killing Tali, my daughter, and many of the inhabitants of the village." He looked out across the water. "I was very angry. I hated the Force; I hated the Je'daii. So I entered into exile to find balance, built the hut that you've been staying in with me, and the rest is history."

There was silence. Jamous put his hand on Delroth's shoulder. "I'm glad to have met you, old friend. I'll always remember your story, and I'll carry your teachings, your training, your character, and your beliefs within me. I promise."

Delroth was about to reply when his fishing pole started to buck and jerk around. He grabbed hold of it tightly, but his arms were shaking and he almost lost his grip. "Jamous, I think we got it. I think this is it," he said excitedly in between grunts. "Here, take the stick. I'm too old to reel it in."

"Me? Can't you use the Force?"

The rod pulled Delroth to the edge of the floating dock. "Holy hell, this thing is huge. Take the stick, Jamous! I'm going to start bring the dock back to the shore of the lake!"

Jamous grabbed a hold of the rod and felt the muscles in his arms contract as the fishing rod bucked and pulled. "You've got to be kidding me," he grunted. "This fish wants to fight!"

Jamius struggled with the rod as Delroth got them back to the shore. Upon reaching the shallows of the lake, the twi'lek grabbed onto the fishing rod as well, and they both pulled as hard as they could. Their feet transitioned from the water to the sand.

Delroth grunted. "Oh we're eating good tonight."

"Let's just focus on getting the fish first," Jamous replied through clenched teeth.

All the opposing force on the rod suddenly released, and Jamous and Delroth fell on their backs. There was a loud thud, and they both sat up to see a giant fish about 5 meters long and about 40 kilos flopping in the sand. Delroth began to hoot and holler, and Jamous joined in with him.

"We got it! We got it!" said Delroth in between shouts of joy.

They both stared at the fish intently as it slowly stopped flopping around. All was silent.

"Uh, Delroth?"

"Yes?"

"How are we going to transport this back home?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note_

 _For those of you who have been reading since Chapter 1, I condensed the first five chapters into two chapters. This new chapter was originally Chapter 6 but is now Chapter 3! Enjoy, everyone! For those of you who are Dawn of the Jedi era lovers/experts, you'll love this chapter. I've written my own interpretation of the vague events of the city of Aurum. Feedback is appreciated!_

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

35,370 B.B.Y.

Delroth was dying . . . and there wasn't anything Jamous could do about it. Over the past twenty years, he had watched the twi'lek age and wither. He had spent thirty years with Delroth. The hermit had taught Jamous everything he knew about combat, hunting, and many other things. He had been sitting by Delroth's bedside for three days now, feeding him and taking care of him.

The twi'lek put his withered hand on Jamous's. "My time has come, old friend."

Jamous tried to be optimistic. "Don't talk like that, Delroth. You're going to be fine. You always get a little weak when the seasons change. You know that."

There was a sad twinkle in the hermit's eyes. "I'm ninety-three years old. Not all of us are so lucky as to receive the gift that you have been given." He started to laugh, but it quickly transitioned into a throat-mutilating, hacking cough.

"Would you stop being a smart ass," Jamous said, trying to be lighthearted but actually suppressing a sob. "You need to conserve your strength."

After his coughing fit, Delroth was short of breath. "Jamous," he panted, "promise me you'll learn the ways of the Force. Now hold on. Don't interrupting me—I'm dying, you hear? Let an old, senile man have his last words. You were meant to be a Je'daii, Jamous. You are powerful in the Force. Promise me you'll learn. Promise me you'll train. That you'll become a Je'daii."

"But, Delroth, I am too old. I'm fifty-five years old. The Je'daii won't take me. Even if they didn't know my true age, I still look too old."

"No." Delroth had another coughing fit. "There is still a way. On the continent of Kato Zakar there is a large volcano called Sefrin Mountain. At the base of Sefrin is a monastery of renegade Je'daii called the Monastery of the Fallen Arts. These monks will take you in. They will train you in the ways of the Force."

"Delroth—"

"Promise me, Jamous! They lean toward the darker side of the Force, but they will teach you all about it. The galaxy needs a Je'daii like you, Jamous. Promise me you'll learn about the ways of the Force."

Jamous hesitated, then said, "I promise you, Delroth."

And with that, Delroth passed on quietly in the night, becoming one with the Force.

—

Jamous had wept over Delroth's body. The twi'lek had been his mentor and close friend. Over the past thirty years, they had bonded, living the life of hermits. The surrounding villages had called them the Brothers of the Forest. Jamous had built a pyre on the dock and cremated Delroth's body. He smoked a cigarette in honor of his friend and then headed back up to the hut.

Jamous had packed his belongings which wasn't much: two tunics, two pairs of pants, and his sword. He had also taken a pendant that Delroth had always worn around his neck. It was wooden, and there was an etching of an Ak tree in the center if it. As hard as it was to say goodbye to Delroth, Jamous knew that this was the curse of his gift. Those he knew would pass on as time went by while he remained.

By the time Delroth's cremation had ended and Jamous had packed up his things, it was early morning, and he started out on his journey to Sefrin Mountain. He would keep his promise

—

Jamous had a long journey ahead of him. He would have to walk to the city of Aurum. It was a massive metropolis built along the Thyrian Ocean. The ocean bordered the northern coast of Masara, and Edge Forest was closer to the southern coast of the continent. All together, it was about a three hundred kilometer walk. Jamous had started his journey the morning after Delroth had died. The first two days had been uneventful. Jamous had foraged fruits and forest vegetables for food. He'd make himself a fire and sleep till dawn. He had eventually reached the edge of Edge Forest and left it, the first time in thirty years. Upon exiting Edge Forest, Jamous entered the Great Plains, a long swath of verdant plains that stretched on for hundreds of kilometers.

It was on the third day that Jamous had his first setback. He was walking along the dirt path that weaved through the grassy plains, smoking a cigarette, when he came to a wall made of ramshackle durasteel. There were two humans standing behind it, blaster pistols holstered to their hips.

"Whoa there, traveler," the human on the right said with cocky grin. He was bald with a long scar down his left cheek. His companion, a young teenager with a round face and chubby cheeks snickered.

Jamous took a drag of his cigarette. "What's the problem?"

There was an evil glint in the bald man's eyes. "This here is our road. If you want to travel it, you'll have to pay the toll." He spit.

Jamous stubbed his cigarette out under his boot. "And who says I'll use your road? What's to stop me from moving off the road into the grass?"

"This right here," the young teenager said in a high-pitched voice, sounding more whiny than threatening. He patted his blaster pistol.

"It'll cost five dactaries in order to pass through and continue on your journey," the bald man added.

"What if I don't have five dactaries?" Jamous asked, squinting into the sun across the plains.

"Then I'm sure we'll take something of value off of your body."

The fat teenager let out a little mischievous laugh. "Let's gut him, Saul. Right here, right now."

Jamous pulled his sword out of its sheath across his back. "I think you guys should really rethink what you plan to do."

The bald man spit out a giant glob of half-saliva, half-snot. "Listen here. This is our road. We're not looking for trouble. We just expect to be paid by those who travel through here."

"For what reason do I have to pay you?"

"That's not the point. Now be a good man and pay the toll. Then you can go on your merry way, and you'll never see us again."

Jamous eyed the two men as he held his sword by his side. They both had their hands on their blasters though they were still holstered. If Delroth had been here, he would have come to an amicable resolution with the two riff raff. But he wasn't, and Jamous wasn't Delroth. He had his own convictions, his own beliefs. And he knew that scum like these two would rob travellers today, but one day they'd be burning and plundering villages like the Black Doth'won.

It all happened in a space of two seconds. Jamous dropped his cigarette, and before it had even hit the ground, he had raised his sword and let if fly from his hands. The blade raced like a spear through the bald man's chest. He let out a choking gurgle and slowly fell forward, hanging over the flimsy durasteel wall. The teenager let out a cry and fired off a few shots at Jamous, but Jamous had already been on the move. He rolled under the blaster fire and pulled himself over the durasteel barrier. He deflected two punches from the thief before connecting his fist straight in the young boy's fat nose. The boy fell onto his back, his blaster flying free from his hands. Before he could get up, Jamous stomped down on the boy's left knee, breaking his leg. The scumbag screamed in pain, wriggling about. Jamous squatted beside him, looking in his eyes.

"Mercy, please!" the boy cried out in between sobs. His fat face was red and pasty.

"You're going to tell me exactly what I want to know."

"But I don't know anything, sir, I swear, I don't-" the boy shrieked in pain again as Jamous broke his other leg. He let the boy cry and whimper for a few seconds before squatting back down.

"I know you and your pal here are part of a bigger operation. Two scumbags like you don't have the brains to organize anything, even something as simple as a toll road. So please, before I break something else, tell me who you work for."

The boy cried. "We work for Drak Fullon, sir. He's the crime lord of these parts. We toll the roads. About twenty kilometers down the path is Fullon's base of operations. He robs all the merchants of their possessions when they come through. That's all I know! I swear!"

"So you charge them a toll and then you steal from them? That's pitiful." Jamous stood up.

The boy wheezed and coughed. "Will you spare me?" he asked hopefully as he looked up at Jamous towering over him.

"No, I won't." Jamous pressed his boot over the teenager's throat. The boy's eyes grew wide as he tried to lift Jamous's boot and catch a breath. "I know what you will become one day," Jamous said darkly. "And I will not allow you to hurt anyone ever again." The boy struggled and gagged, the veins on his head bulging. He let out one last ragged cough and then died.

After cleaning his sword and dragging the corpses of the bandits into the grass on the side of the road, Jamous continued on his way.

"There's a surprise coming your way, Drak Fullon."

—

Jamous stood amongst the carnage. He had encountered Fullon's camp just before the sun had gone down. The bandit and his gang had tried to rob Jamous. The fight had been quick and brutal, and Jamous had not let a single bandit live. Around him lay the corpses of fifteen scumbags. He had saved Drak Fullon for last. The "crime lord" had begged and pleaded for his life. He offered Jamous money, drugs, and just about everything else in exchange for his life. No words came from Jamous, and he had silently plunged his blade into the gangster's heart.

Jamous knew that Delroth would not have approved of his actions. The old Je'daii held a high belief of the sacredness of all life. But Jamous disagreed. Those that hurt innocents, that preyed on the weak, that murdered the harmless, they were less than nothing, and Jamous had no problem squashing them under his boot like the bugs that they were. Jamous had slowly grown into these beliefs over the past thirty years. While Masara was a beautiful continent, many criminals had come to Edge Forest to prey on the villagers who lived simple lives under the canopy of trees. He had seen firsthand the destruction they were capable of. After the slaughter of the Black Doth'won, Delroth had tried to instill into Jamous the importance of all life. The twi'lek had tried to argue that the Force was in all creatures and that the life force in everything was important to some degree. Jamous had listened at first . . . until he came across a group of bandits raping a woman deep in the forest. To his horror, he realized that these same bandits were the ones he had disarmed and let go free only a few weeks earlier.

Jamous did not think of himself as a hero or a savior. He just knew that he could not let injustice go unpunished. And he would not. He did not agree with the Je'daii way. How could he? They supposedly believed in the higher calling of the Force, but where were they when men in Edge Forest were being murdered, the women raped, and the children slaughtered? They were in their temples, isolated from the struggles of the normal people on the planet of Tython. If they had so much power, if they held such a deep connection to the Force, how could they idly stand by and let others suffer?

When Delroth had mentioned the Monastery of the Fallen Arts, it had piqued Jamous's interest. Although for years he denied it, even up to Delroth's death, Jamous knew he held a connection to the Force. He could feel it deep inside him. Although it was not the bright enlightenment the old hermit had talked about. His connection felt dark, brooding, and tumultuous. He knew of his affinity for the darker side of the Force. If these monks were the ones that were going to teach him how to harness that dark power inside of him, then so be it.

—

When Jamous reached the edges of Aurum, dark storms clouds brooded across the sky. The wind had picked up to a howl, and giant waves from the Thyrian Ocean beat against the walls of the city.

"Looks like there's going to be a bad storm tonight," Jamous said looking up at the sky. He was hoping to catch a transport to Kato Zakar tonight, but that plan was sunk. No one would be attempting to fly in this weather. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

When Jamous was deep in the city, he looked around in wonder. It had been thirty years since he had last been in civilization. All around him, the city bustled with life. Shopkeepers and vendors closed down their shops in preparation of the storm. Many civilians ran into one of the many tall, spiraling towers that covered the city. They towers towered over him, and Jamous strained his neck trying to look to the top of the towers.

It had begun to rain as he exited off the main roads into the back alleys. He needed to find shelter soon. It was going to start pouring. He came across a back-alley cantina called Haven. The cantina was small: one bartender behind a small bar, and about five tables with one for cards. When Jamous entered, the bartender and the only other two patrons looked at him.

"Looking for some shelter from the storm, traveler?" the bartender asked. He was a Bith with pale skin and large eyes.

Jamous sat at the bar on one of the three bar stools. "Yes, looks like it's going to be a bad one tonight."

"We've had worse," the Bith replied, but there was a loud cackling of lightning that joined the cacophonous rumble of the ocean's waves beating on the city's walls that contradicted him. "What can I get you?"

"A beer, cold and frothy."

It wasn't long before Jamous had downed the cold beer, wiping the froth from his lips.

"Give me another one, keeper." By now the rain was coming down so hard and the thunder and lightning was so loud that Jamous had to raise his voice considerably to be heard. The bartender handed him another beer, and Jamous was about half-way through it when lightning struck, causing a loud ring and a thundering crash. The ground began to shake.

"What the hell?" the barkeeper exclaimed as the shaking caused the bottles and glasses to start falling off the shelves behind him. They broke upon impact, adding to the noise of the storm.

Jamous stood from his bar stool, trying to keep his balance as the ground shook. He could hear screaming outside. Upon exiting the cantina, a horrific view greeted him. Through the pouring rain, one of the many towered buildings had been struck by a fierce bolt of lightning, causing it to crumble to the ground. "No . . ."

A twi'lek ran by him. There was a clear look of fear on her face. "Hey!" Jamous stopped her. "What's going?"  
"The storm is too strong!" she said in a panic. "You see the buildings. They're coming down! The sea is churning mightily. The city walls aren't going to be able to hold against the waves! We need to leave the city!" She began to run down the alley, not looking back.

Another bolt of lightning struck a tower right above Jamous. It sounded like the shattering of glass, and debris began to fall down on him in the alley. He retreated back into the cantina and began to gather his things. "I wouldn't stick around," he said to everyone in the bar. "It's looking bad out there." And with that, he disappeared into the rain.

By the time Jamous had gotten back on one of the main roads of Aurum, there was mass chaos. People were carrying what possessions they could and were trying to flee the city. Looters destroyed shopfronts and ransacked them. At least four more towers had fallen from the wind and lightning. There was a thick cloud of dust that blanketed the city, not even the pouring rain could keep it down. A giant rumble drowned out everyone's screams as four more towers in the skyline of the city fell. Now was the time to leave.

Jamous followed the crowd down the main road back to the Great Plains. People fell and were trampled by the mass exodus of those fleeing. The fear was palpable. He could feel it rolling off of everyone. He couldn't explain it, but this made him feel stronger, more powerful. He felt his legs run faster, his breathing steady out. Jamous was running when he saw a young girl starting to fall. He slowed his pace and caught her, preventing her from being trampled to death. The girl didn't thank him or say a word; she just kept running. Jamous didn't blame her.

He was about to take off, back into the fray, when the loud screech of tearing durasteel pierced the rumble of falling towers and screaming of endangered city dwellers. Many people who were running stopped and looked towards the sound. Jamous's blood ran cold.

The walls fending off the giant waves of the Thyrian ocean had broken. It had only been a matter of time. On the opposite side of the city, a giant wall of water three kilometers high came slamming into the city streets, swallowing buildings and pedestrians alike. Many of the people around Jamous did not begin to start running. They fell on their hands and knees, accepting their fate. But not Jamous.

He began running, as fast as he could toward the Great Plains. Today was not his day. Although he was now fifty-five years old, his body was that of twenty-five, and he also had another enhancement the others didn't: the raw, untethered power of the darker side of the Force. He moved faster than any normal human should have, weaving through the crowd and jumping over obstacles. He could feel the rumbling of the giant tsunami wave getting closer and closer. The water slapped against everything in its way, swallowing it it up, the sound beckoning to Jamous, to let it swallow him whole. He was just at the edge of the city, the verdant fields of the Great Plains before him when the buildings started to crumble and cave around him. Large chunks of debris rained down on him, but none of it hit Jamous. He knew when to move, when to weave. It was the Force guiding him. He had never felt so connected to it before this.

Jamous had made it into the fields when the tsunami wave broke back in the city. A large tide scooped him up, propelling him deeper into the plains. When the tide had reached its climax, it dumped him face first into the wet grass. He was battered and bruised but alive.

The destruction of Aurum was absolute. After Jamous had collected himself, he had walked up a hill that had overlooked the city. There was debris and rubble everywhere. The entire city was flooded. The tsunami wave that had hit Aurum had scattered bits and pieces of the city all over the Great Plains. There were bodies floating face-down in the water. The carnivorous birds of Tython were already in the sky, flying in circles around a feast. Jamous saw all of this while sitting cross-legged and smoking a cigarette.

Eerily, it was calm now. Still very cloudy, but the storm had subsided. It was as if the storm had come only to claim Aurum and its inhabitants. It did what it came to do, and that was that. Reflecting on what had passed only hours ago, Jamous came to a realization as he lit himself a fresh cigarette. He had felt more powerful, more in tune with the Force, during the death and destruction of the storm. It was as if he had fed off of the fear of those trying to escape the storm's wrath. Their deaths had saved his life. Jamous did feel sorrowful about the loss of life. He really did. And yet, he was also thankful. It was selfish—he knew. But still, the chaos had only made him more powerful, more focused.

 _I have a natural affinity for the darker side of the Force. I see that now. Clearly._

The sound of propulsion engines unmuted the silence after the storm. Jamous looked up to see five Je'daii transports fly past over him and circle the destruction. He had started to gather his things and leave when one of the transports broke off from the rest and headed toward him. Knowing that they were going to want to talk to him, he stood his ground and lit another cigarette, trying to appear nonchalant. The grass rippled as the transport came to a landing. The bay door opened up and a human woman dressed in the traditional Je'daii robes walked out and towards him. She had long brown hair with streaks of gray, and white tattoos on her face and hands.

"Did you see the destruction?" she asked, getting straight to the matter at hand.

"I did." Jamous took a drag from his cigarette.

"How did it happen?"

"Lightning struck down many of the city's towers, crushing many of the people on the streets. In the end, a giant wave broke through the city walls and destroyed the city."

The Je'daii did her best to mask the horror as he described the city's destruction, but Jamous could see it in her eyes. "How could this happen?" she asked herself as she gazed upon the lost city.

Jamous took one last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the grass. "Tython is not meant for those of us not touched by the Force. You Je'daii are so focused on yourselves, so wrapped up in exploring the Force, studying it, pushing its limits, that you fail to realize that for your every action there is a reaction by the planet. You would probably say that this total destruction was unforeseen. I say that some old, decrepit Je'daii scholars cooped in the tower of one of your temples were dabbling in the Force in a way they shouldn't. This is Tython's response."

The woman took a step back as Jamous said these words, as if she had received a verbal slap to the face. "What is your name?" she asked with no response to his previous statement.

"Jamous," he replied. "Jamous Devven."

"Well, Jamous, I'm guessing Aurum is no longer your destination. I can give you a lift to Bodhi, and then you can find transport from there."

Jamous had felt bad for how harshly he had scolded her. He replied more softly, "Thank you. I'd really appreciate that."

The Je'daii looked once more at the destruction of Aurum. "You are right about one thing, Jamous. Tython is not suitable for non-Force users, and it's time the Je'daii did something about it."

When they had made there way into the transport and buckled themselves in, she in the pilot seat and Jamous in the copilot seat beside her, the Je'daii introduced herself as Lyn Mazloff. She was the headmaster of the temple Bodhi. They had been up in the air and flying for ten minutes in silence when Lyn finally broke the silence. "That pendant you're wearing, where did you get it?"

Jamous grabbed the pendant around his neck. "It used to be a close friend's. A brother and my mentor. He was a hermit in Edge Forest. His name was Delroth."

Lyn let out a sad sigh. "Delroth Mak'ki."

Jamous raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You knew him?"

"I did. He was a good man. I trained under him at Bodhi when I was still just a learner."

"He had told me that he was a teacher there once upon a time."

She nodded. "Yes. That sword you have. A Je'daii sword. Forged at Vur Tepe. I take it that Master Mak'ki gave that to you?"

"He did. I was with him for thirty years before he passed on."

It was Lyn's turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise. "So he must have found you as a small child."

Jamous hesitated, mentally kicking himself for being careless. "Yes," he lied. "Delroth took me under his wing and cared for me."

The Je'daii Master didn't say much else, and neither did Jamous. They spent the rest of the hour-long journey in silence. When they had landed on top of Bodhi and exited the transport, Lyn showed him where he could find transport to Kato Zakar.

"Kato Zakara is a dangerous place," she said as they were about to part ways. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"I think I can handle it," Jamous replied as he shouldered his pack.

"Jamous," Lyn stopped walking and looked at him, deep in his eyes. "I sense a turbulent destiny surrounding you. You have a deep and raw connection to the Force. It's dark and untamed. Take care of yourself."

"I will, Lyn. Thank you for the ride." The Je'daii turned and walked down into the temple. Jamous watched till she was gone.

It was time to get back on the road. It was time to train. Most importantly, it was time to learn how to tap into this dark Force. Jamous lit a cigarette and went to find transport to Kato Zakara.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note_

 _Thank you to all my readers for your patience. The holidays were crazy for me, and I just moved across the country. Enjoy the chapter. I'm really starting to set the foundation for the character that Jamous is going to be for the rest of the series._

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

35,355 B.B.Y.

Sweat dripped down Jamous's bald scalp; it broke over his brow. His muscles burned with tension as he held held himself in a handstand position, each hand on a separate wooden poll jutting from a pit of sharp wooden stakes. But this was not what was really causing him to sweat. All around him, held by his connection to the Force, levitated three large boulders and one of his instructors Mal'Li.

"Yes, yes," said the old, decrepit human instructor in a hoarse voice. "Push aside Ashla. Push aside the light. Find that light within you and remove it as much as possible. Make room for Bogan. Make room for the darkness. There is darkness in all of us, but you must make it expand as much as possible. You must let it have all it wants of you."

Jamous did as Mal'Li instructed.

For fifteen years now he had studied the Force steeped in the shadows of Bogan at the Monastery of the Fallen Arts. After a perilous journey through the continent of Kato Zakar and a nerve racking ascent of Sefrin Mountain, Jamous had found himself before the large wooden doors of a monastery carved solely from the rock of the mountain's face. The monks had accepted him and let him learn the Arts of Bogan right away. Jamous was their only student, the first in a long time, so they poured everything into him. All of the old renegade Je'daii found renewed strength as they saw Jamous as their final vessel to contain their dark and outlawed teachings.

"We never rebelled against the Je'daii," Mal'Li had told Jamous once. "There was once a time where there were plans to, but the Je'daii of balance banished us from the Order before a war could begin."

That had been many, many years ago. Students had once made the journey the the monastery in order to learn at the feet of the Je'daii of the Fallen Arts, but according to the monks, the students had started to come few and far between. Jamous was their first student in over twenty-five years.

These monks that practiced the ways of Bogan had to have been at least almost two hundred years old. At least that's what Jamous guessed from what he had learned from them. They had found a way in their dark connection to preserve their life force. It wasn't anything like what Jamous had, but they were still able to extend their time before passing on. Jamous himself was now seventy years old, but rather than showing any signs of aging like the monks had these last fifteen years, he still looked and felt as he had the day that he had met Mortis. His body was that of a twenty-five year old, yet now it was augmented with an acute understanding of the Force, specifically the ways of Bogan.

His connection to the Force was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was a weapon, a pulsating beam of dark energy, just waiting to be harnessed by him. It would bend to his will, do exactly what he wanted, be an extension of his goals and aspirations. That's how he saw it. Not as an entity or a state of being as Delroth had seen it, and not as a benevolent master to bow down to like the monks here saw it, but as a tool, one that could further Jamous's motives.

When he had first arrived at the monastery, it had been hard for him to empty himself and feel the connection of the Force within. His mind had been too clouded by cynicism and, though he was wont to admit it, fear. Jamous had denied his ability to use the Force for all of these years because if he had admitted the fact that he had this connection, he would also have to admit that his life was being guided or directed by a higher entity. It didn't take long to realize how foolish of a thought process that was. As Jamous had grown stronger in the Force, had become familiar with it, he realized that the Force was not a spiritual entity that permeated Tython. No, it was a tool that could be used to do one's bidding. That's how Jamous chose to see it at least. Was he right? Or was he still just too stubborn to admit Delroth had been right? Jamous really didn't know, but he had the rest of his life to figure it out.

That last thought caused Jamous to smirk.

"Focus, Jamous," Mal'Li crooned. "Keep your thoughts centered."  
"Yes, master," Jamous grunted, still levitating Mal'Li and the three boulders while performing a handstand over the pit of sharpened stakes.

"Now, set me down. Use the boulders as a path to safety."

Deftly, Jamous lowered Mal'Li to the ground. He then levitated the rocks to form a little bridge from the poles he supported himself on to the edge of the pit. Jamous relieved the stress on his arms, flipping onto his feet and walking across the boulders that he still levitated with the Force. Once he had crossed the opposite side, Jamous lifted the three boulders up and then gently stacked all three of them on top of each other. He let out a sigh of relief once he had finished.

"Good work, my student," Mal'Li said. "You have done well."  
"Thank you, master," Jamous said as he picked up a rough towel and wiped himself down.

Mal'Li walked towards him, the old master bent over and using a cane. His face was covered in hundreds of wrinkles, and his eyes were a dull yellow. He had lived a long life. "It is your time."

Jamous stopped toweling himself down. "My time?"

Mal'Li rested all his weight on his cane. "Yes, your time to fully join the Brothers of the Fallen Arts." He gave what could pass as his version of a small smile. "Your training is complete, Jamous. There is only the Final Trial, and then you are one of us."

"When is this last trial?" Jamous asked, already feeling the adrenaline in his veins at the mention of this last trial.

"Tonight."

—

Jamous walked into the main chamber of the monastery. It was very dark and gloomy, the only source of light a few torches placed higher up towards the ceiling. Their glow barely illuminated the room. There was a smoke that wafted throughout the entire room; it lapped up towards the high ceiling of the chapel, though Jamous was not sure where it's source was.

As he came to stop in the center of the chamber, the fifteen monks, those who were left of this lost art of the Force, the way of Bogan, formed a circle around him. They chanted a low and ominous mantra. Mal'Li stood in the center with Jamous. Before him was an altar, a live latherine beast strapped down to it, its eyes wide with fear.

"Brother," Mal'Li began, "your final trial awaits you, but you must prepare." He lifted out his hand which held a small wooden bowl. Jamous took it from him. There was a burning powder in the bowl, a small thin line of smoke snaking out of the embers within. "Breathe it in," ordered Mal'Li. "Breathe it in deep." Jamous did as he was told. He breathed in the smoke coming from the bowl, inhaled it deeply into his lungs. He repeated this four or five times.

Mal'Li turned to the cowering latherine beast and gently stroked the fur on it's neck. Without another word, he took out a small knife from the sleeve of his robe and brought it down on the latherine beast's neck. The animal let out a yelp of pain and then died. Mal'Li pulled the knife out of the beast's neck. Blood gushed forth from the wound, and he took a chalice from the altar and put it underneath the animal's neck. The cup filled with the beast's blood.

"Drink," ordered Mal'Li. "Drink, and let the herbs and blood and rock take over you."

Jamous took the cup. He wasn't sure what he had inhaled, but it had made him light-headed. Everything seemed to have a blurred filter over it. Normally, he would have thought twice about drinking the blood of a freshly slain beast, but there had to have been something in those herbs he had ingested. He felt more impressionable, easily swayed.

Jamous brought the chalice to his lips and drank, slowly at first, but then he gulped the animal's blood down, finishing it to the bottom of the cup.

Mal'Li's face contorted into a mischievous grin. "Good," he said. "Good."

But Jamous could barely hear him. Or the other monk's chants for that matter. Everything seemed to begin to fade. The lights, the sounds, the monks, all of it. It wasn't long before Jamous found himself in place of black emptiness.

"Hello?" he called, his voice echoing on for what seemed like kilometers upon kilometers.

A black cladded figure slowly seemed to almost fade into existence right in front of Jamous. This figure was in a suit of black metal, his face covered by a masked helmet, a black triangular vent where his mouth should be. He breathed a steady and slow rhythm. It was metallic, robotic.

"Who are you?" Jamous asked. Was this is a vision?

The black armored figure did not reply. Instead he began to morph right before Jamous's very eyes. He morphed into an old familiar face.

"Delroth?" Jamous said in surprise.

Delroth only said one word. "Wake." And Jamous found himself back in the central chamber of the Monastery of the Fallen Arts, before Mal'Li. The other monks had stopped chanting. All was silent.

"You have seen," Mal'Li said, looking deep into Jamous's eyes. "You have seen the Harbinger."

"The Harbinger?" Jamous asked.

"He who has accepted Bogan in its purest form. He who is the Harbinger of our teaching. He who will one day be the embodiment of darkness."

Jamous's head throbbed. "I saw him. I also saw someone I knew."  
"The light, Jamous. It called to you. It tried to reach out to you one last time. In the form of someone who was once close to you. Be wary." Mal'Li turned his back to Jamous. "And now for the final trial." He clapped his hands. "Bring her in."

Two monks came into the chamber from a side door. They each held one arm of a small girl. She looked to be no older than fourteen. Her hair was ashen colored. They dropped her on her knees before Jamous. The girl did not talk or look around. She stared at the ground, as if in a trance. She was skinny, starved. Her face and all other exposed skin was covered in soot. Her ashen hair was stringy and lank. She obviously hadn't bathed in quite a while.

Mal'Li walked behind Jamous and stripped his robe off, revealing Jamous's bare torso. The old Je'daii master then took the blood of the latherine beast and began to draw ancient bendu runes on his skin. "The final challenge, my student."

Jamous looked down at the girl. She looked scared. Her simple tunic and pants were torn and dirtied. She was barefoot. "What would you have me do, my master?"

Mal'Li stood before him once again. He summoned a monk with his hand, and he brought forward a sword in a velveted case. "This sword is the most sacred weapon of our order. And you, you are our last and greatest student." He took the case from the monk and turned it toward Jamous.

Jamous looked down at it. It was a Je'daii sword, but it had many differences. The metal of the blade was a dull gray, almost black. The handle of the blade was made with deep black obsidian. There was a slight curve to the blade—it was more of a katana than a sword.

"Blackened Night is a blade that was forged from the metals found on the moon of Bogan," continued Mal'Li. "The metallurgist who forged this was a Je'daii that believed wholeheartedly in the way of Bogan. Before we had been exiled to this monastery, banished to a hard life on Kato Zakar, this Je'daii forged Blackened Night. He sacrificed his own soul, using a rare form of blood magic that only he knew, and imbued every last bit of dark energy he had into this blade."

Jamous took the sword from the case. He felt a sinister and dark pulsating energy vibrate up his arm and echo around in his chest cavity. This blade was strong in the dark energies of the Force. "What does the girl have to do with this?"

Mal'Li smiled sinisterly. "It has been many years since Blackened Night has had it's share of blood. Quench the blade's thirst with the blood of this young woman."

Alarm bells went off in Jamous's head. No, this wasn't right. The drugs that the monks had used in the ritual began to push him to raise his blade and strike down at the girl. He had to clench his fists to keep himself in the control. "Who is she?" he grunted.

"It's not who she is," Mal'Li explained, "but who she's from. This girl is the daughter of a thief and a murderer, a _rapist_. She was born from the rape of an innocent woman. She is the consequence of that unholy union. Her father's wicked blood runs through her veins. She will be like him."

Jamous's head swam. His mind felt clouded and his judgement skewed. "But she's not done anything wrong."

"Not yet." There was an evil glint in Mal'Li's eyes. "But she will. We must nip it in the bud now."

Jamous felt his body step toward the girl. _What have they made me ingest?_ It was as if he had no control of himself. "I will not do this." He struggled against himself.

"You will," Mal'Li stated menacingly. "You will."

Jamous felt his arms lift up, raising Blackened Night above his head. The ashen haired girl knelt before him. She did not look up, but Jamous could see her lips quivering in fear. The monk's chants grew louder and louder, as if they were inside Jamous's skull.

 _No, no. Stop! Stop! This isn't what I want._

Mal'Li began to chant with the other monks, a maniacal grin on his face. He lifted his hands into the air and chanted louder, his voice almost a shrill.

Jamous's arms burned as he tried so hard not to do what his body was about to do. He could feel the effect of the drugs; the chants of the monks seemed to be the strings that moved him like a puppet. Jamous closed his eyes.

 _I will not allow this to happen._

 _"You won't."_ Jamous heard Delroth's voice in his ear. It was the steel that he needed. A new resolution washed over Jamous, and his face set with determination. He still held the katana above his head and over the young girl. But instead of bringing it down upon the child, Jamous opened up to his right and brought the blade down on Mal'Li. The old Je'daii let out a gutter shriek as he was cut diagonally in two.

The monks immediately stopped their chanting and leaped into action. Jamous scooped up the young girl in his arms and performed a Force-augmented leap out of the center of the chamber and away from the monks' charge. They landed on the fringes of the room, and Jamous set the girl down. "Run." She bolted out of the room without another word.

Jamous gathered the Force in his hand and launched a powerful wave at three monks standing at the back of the room. They cried out as they broke through the painted chapel windows and fell down the mountain to their death.

A monk charged at Jamous with nasty looking daggers. He parried the attack and pirouetted to his left, cutting down two more monks in the process. The knife-wielding monk charged again, and Jamous matched the attack with physical power of his own. He dislodged one of the daggers from the monk's hand and then cleaved his head off. The monk's body fell to the ground, blood spurting from the stump of his neck.

"Deceiver!" a monk cried out, letting a strong blast of Force lightning escape from his hand and launch toward Jamous, a Force technique that he had never seen before. "You will pay!"

The attack caught Jamous off guard, and he barely had time to put Blackened Night in the way of the lightning. The energy knocked the katana from Jamous's hand. He put his other hand up and began to collect the energy that the monk was throwing at him. Jamous had no control of what he was doing, and the lightning that he was collecting in his hand shot out in random bolts, hitting the walls, the furniture, and even three monks, vaporizing them completely in an instant.

The adrenaline of the fight and his survival instinct had somehow allowed Jamous to collect the lightning being thrown at him and augment it tenfold with his own power. But there was not time to think about that. There were seven monks left who still wanted him dead. Many of the monks were stunned in awe by the raw power and ability that Jamous had displayed, but he wasted no time. He cut down three more monks in the time it took for them to regain their composure, his body and mind increased in speed due to his connection to the Force.

It wasn't long before all was over: the chamber was littered with corpses of the monks who had trained Jamous in the Force for the last fifteen years. The Monastery of the Fallen Arts was no more. Jamous walked over the corpse of Mal'Li. The man's upper half stared lifelessly at the ceiling. "I will never kill an innocent," he said to the corpse. "Never."

—

Jamous had gone back to his room and packed up his belongings. After all these years, there still wasn't much: two changes of clothes, his wooden pendant from Delroth, and his two swords, the one Delroth had given him and the Blackened Night. Jamous had showered away the blood of the latherine beast and that of the monks. Before returning to his chambers, he had searched high and low for the ashen haired girl, but she had seemed to have disappeared.

Jamous took in the surroundings of his small stone room one last time. This had been his home for the last fifteen years. He had delved into the dark arts of the Force: rage and passion, power and sorcery. He had completed his training (besides the final challenge), and yet, he did not feel complete like he thought he would. Something was still off; something was not right. He had felt that the study of Bogan was the way that he wanted to learn the Force, but after what he had just witnessed in the monastery's chapel, he was no longer sure.

Jamous left his room and walked the empty halls of the monastery. They would forever remain this way. He came to the entry hall of the monastery and was just about to push open the big two wooden doors and leave the monastery when there was a voice behind him.

"Hey."

Jamous turned around. Before him was the ashen haired girl. "Hey," he said gently. "Are you all right?"

The girl scrunched her face in an arrogant look. "Of course I am. I was about to get myself out of that mess."  
Jamous suppressed a chuckle. "Oh, really now?"

"Yes!" she said as she folded her arms across her chest.

"What's your name?" Jamous asked the girl.

She hesitated, then replied. "Lana."

"Well, Lana, it's nice to meet you. My name is Jamous."

The girl's arrogant facade finally fell. "Thank you. You really saved me back there."

"Don't worry about it." Jamous looked the girl up and down. She was ragged. "Do you have anywhere to go."

Lana looked down at her bare feet and tried to fight the tears welling up in her eyes. "No, not really."

Jamous bent down and put his hand on her shoulder. "Come on. Let's see if we can find you a change of clothes and something to eat."

And that's what they did. They found monastery robes that were too big with sandals that were also too big. For food they found dried crackers and salted meat. Jamous observed the girl as she ate the food voraciously. She looked up in between mouthfuls and smiled at him, food in her teeth.

"I'm going to get you out of here, away from Kato Zakar. Once we're somewhere safer, we'll figure out what to do with you."

"I'm not a kid!" exclaimed Lana. "I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can," Jamous said with a smile. "But everyone needs help every once in a while."  
Lana looked at her food in thought. "Okay, fine. You did help me before, and I . . . I trust you."

"Well, where are you from, Lana? Where can we go to get you back to where you need to go?"

"I'm from Thyr."

Jamous stood up from the small table that they sat at. "Well then, the continent of Thyr it is."


	5. Interlude I

**Interlude I**

1 A.B.Y.

The hard gravel of Yorath Prime's surface crunched under Luke Skywalker's boots. He looked across the horizon. The planet's surface was that of rugged and jagged edged mountains. They covered the entire planet and reached towards the sky like bony hands and fingers, as if begging for help. Large oceans were scattered throughout the mountain rages, their harsh waves beating against cliff faces. It was a forgotten planet on the edge of the outer rim, at the very edge of the galaxy itself.

Luke checked the blaster in its holster on his right hip and then relaxed his left hand on his lightsaber. It was the last thing his mentor Ben Kenobi had given him before his death at the hands of Darth Vader.

The thought of Vader caused Luke to tighten his grip around the lightsaber hilt. A year had passed since the destruction of the Imperial Death Star and the death of Ben. Every day the Rebellion grew stronger, but it was still not enough to compete with the almost limitless resources and manpower that the Empire had. The rebels needed the help of anyone and everyone . . . and that's why Luke was here, by request of Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan.

Luke walked along a cobbled path up a cliff face. The smell of salt hung heavy in the air, and he could hear the ocean's waves crashing against the side of the mountain he was on. How anyone could live on this planet was beyond Luke's understanding. The cobbled path transitioned into rocky steps, and he began the long climb to the very top of the mountain.

When Leia had told Luke about her encounters with the person he had come to Yorath Prime for, he didn't believe her at first. How could he? And why now? Why hadn't they come for this person a year ago? Maybe Old Ben would still be alive.

Luke reached the top of the mountain. There was an outcropping of rock that looked out across the gray ocean of Yorath Prime. Standing at the edge of the cliff was a man in simple gray trousers and tunic. He had long brown hair that came past his shoulders. When he turned to face Luke, his face was covered in a long unkempt beard and there was a dark scar from his temple to the beginning of his cheek. He looked to be only a few years older than Luke.

"I knew you'd come sooner or later," he said to Luke cryptically.

Luke hesitated. "Are you Master Devven?"

The man waved his hand. "Call me Jamous. I'm not one for formalities."

There was silence. Luke didn't know what to say in reply so he decided to get straight to the reason as to why he was here. "Leia sent me. We need your help, Jamous. The Empire needs to be stopped."

The mysterious man named Jamous looked across the ocean. "Evil has always risen in the galaxy, and it will always be pushed back down by those who strive for the Light. The Empire will come and go. In a thousand years, it will be but a distant memory, a legend."

"I'm not worried about a thousand years from now," Luke replied, somewhat indignantly. "I'm worried about right now. I don't know who you are or if the things about you are true, but Leia believes that you are key to our victory over the Empire, and I trust her judgment. We need you, Jamous."

A strong wind blew across the top of the mountain, brushing Jamous's long hair off of his neck and revealing a tattoo on it. It was a word in an ancient script of aurebesh. It was difficult to read with the short glimpse that Luke got of it, but he was able read the tattoo just before it disappeared under Jamous's long hair once again: Lana.

Luke's curiosity go the best of him. There as too much unknown about this man, and he needed to know something about anything about him. "What is Lana?"

Jamous's face showed a brief look of surprise before he sighed and looked tiredly across the distance. "One of my biggest mistakes."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

35,354 B.B.Y.

Jamous was annoyed. For all morning, he had been dragged—

"Watch it!" a voice said gruffly from somewhere within the swarm of people milling all about Jamous. He turned to see a plank of wood go passing by on a big man's shoulder. He ducked under it.

"Lana, wait up," he said somewhat irritatedly.

Their journey through the rough mountains of Kato Zakar to the continent of Thyr had been relatively smooth and uneventful. In that time, Jamous had gotten to know more about Lana. At least, what she was willing to share. The young girl would not explain how she had ended up being prisoner to the Monks of the Fallen Arts, nor would she reveal any information on her background or her family. She would only say that she was from the city Kyrean on Thyr. Still, the two had bonded. Jamous could see that Lana was an impetuous kid who liked to get into trouble and loved to laugh. There were many nights around the fire when both told exciting tales and scary stories. At night, as they lay in their sleeping bags, Lana would ask Jamous questions about Tython, or the galaxy, or any other deep questions. Jamous was more than happy to answer all or any of her questions.

"Jamous?" Lana had asked him one night as they look up at the stars, their fire slowly dying out. "How old are you?"

"You want to know the truth?"

She rolled to her left to look at him. "Yes."

"I'll be seventy one this year."

Lana scoffed, "Oh, stop. Do you really think I'd believe that?"

Jamous smiled. "I don't think anyone would believe it."

Tython had finished its yearly cycle and a new year had begun the day before they found themselves in Kyrean, the capital city of Thyr. Lana had dragged Jamous all over the city, not explaining where they were going, what they were doing, or who or what they were looking for.

This was starting to aggravate Jamous. Kyrean was a big city, but every square inch of it was densely packed with buildings, alleys, main streets, side streets, marketplaces—people were everywhere. After spending the last fifty years in almost complete isolation, it was all too much for Jamous. He felt like he was being slowly suffocated. People were pushing on all sides of him.

Suddenly, he saw Lana's ashen hair disappear into an alley up on the left. "Lana!" he shouted for her as he followed her. When he walked into the alley, he stopped when he saw Lana talking to a shadowy, hooded figure. He could just barely overhear the end of their conversation.

"Stripe will not be happy when he finds out you're back in Kyrean, Lana. Not one bit."

"I'm sure I can explain myself to him. Make him understand that this is all just a big mistake," Lana tried to explain.

The hooded figure let out a harsh, almost serpentine chuckle. "Oh, no, no, no, dolly, that's not how this works. You've got too—"

"What's going on here?" Jamous asked authoritatively, interrupting the hooded figure. Lana looked back at him, surprised to see him in the alley. _"The little punk was trying to lose me in the crowd,"_ Jamous thought.

"Hey," the hooded figure said roughly, pushing Lana out of the way, causing her to let out a squeak and fall to the ground. He then pulled away his robe, revealing a hidden vibroshiv strapped to his belt. "Who do you think you are to get into other people's business?"

Jamous stood his ground. "And who are you to think you can push her like that?" He pulled at the strap diagonally across his chest which held both his swords in their scabbards. He reached back and pulled out the one Delroth had given him.

The hooded figure hesitated, obviously not anticipating for Jamous to respond to his intimidation with force in kind. "Look, I, uh—" he stammered.

"Get the hell out of here," Jamous said icily, "before I slice your hand off for mistreating her."

The man nervously walked passed Jamous and then melted in the crowd. After he disappeared, Jamous walked to Lana, who was still on the ground, and bent down towards her.

"Thought you could lose me, huh?" he said, half-serious, half-joking.

Lana didn't meet his eyes with her own. "I need your help."

"With what, Lana?"

She finally met his gaze, her strikingly ice-blue eyes shining fiercely. "I need you to help me rescue my mom."

—

They sat under the porch of a street cafe, sipping caf and eating different kinds of bread with different spreads.

"So tell me about this guy named Stripe," Jamous said, biting into the hard piece of bread before him.

"He owns these streets," Lana said, speaking through stuffed cheeks, as she voraciously scarfed down more bread and cheese. She swallowed with a big gulp. "When someone in the slums of Kyrean needs money, they can borrow it from Stripe. But if you can't pay him back when the time comes . . ." she trailed off.

"What happens?"

"He either kills you, or he enslaves you." She began to eat more.

"Slow down, slow down, you'll choke if you eat too fast. So what does this have to do with your mom?"

Lana stopped eating. She swallowed what food she put in her mouth and then said quietly, "Stripe has my mom. At least, that's what my aunt told me when I was growing up."

Jamous lifted his eyebrows. "You mean to say that you've never met your mom?"

Lana's face scrunched indignantly. "So what if I haven't, huh? Doesn't make her any less of my mom," she pouted.

"Calm down, Lana. Continue the story."

She looked back and forth to the people sitting at tables around them. "Last year, I came to Kyrean to find my mom. I joined up as a street urchin for Stripe's gang, figured I could infiltrate his team and find my mom."

"And how did that go?" Jamous asked.

"Well, I somehow found myself on a different continent, being held prisoner by some crazy monks, so it didn't go well at all," she replied sarcastically.

Jamous laughed. "You've got a lot of wit for a kid."

"I'm not a kid! How many times do I have to keep telling you that?"

"Till the day I die," he teased, then became more reserved. "Are you sure that your mother is still under Stripe, Lana? Could she have been sold? The underground slave trade spans all over Tython." He stopped for a second before continuing. "Or maybe she, you know . . ." He trailed off.

Lana looked down stoically at her empty plate. She didn't say anything for a minute or two. Finally: "Jamous, I need to find my mom." She looked up at him, crystal tears forming in her vibrant blue eyes. "I just need to see her, even if it's only a short glimpse."

Jamous reached over the table and ruffled her ashen hair. "We'll find her, Lana. I promise."

—

The pair found themselves walking around a large lake in the center of Kyrean. The city builders had turned the lake into a massive park, creating a path that circled the entirety of the lake. Vendors were set up all over the park, selling desserts, toys, and all kinds of other things. Jamous and Lana found a bench on a hill that overlooked the entire lake. The young girl was licking a frozen treat that she had begged Jamous to buy her, telling him that money was meaningless and even if it was his last bit of funds, he should still spend it on a treat for her.

They stared out across the lake, not saying much.

"Thank you, Jamous," Lana finally said, breaking the silence.

He looked over to her. "For what?"

"Everything," she said, still looking out across the way. The sun had begun to set, and the fainting light caused her eyes to flame like blue fire. "For rescuing me from those crazy monks, for travelling with me here to Kyrean."

"Who said I'm doing this for free?" Jamous teased.

Lana's face turned sour. "Can you never be serious?" she pouted, folding her arms and turning her body away from him.

"Okay, okay," he said with a laugh. Then seriously: "Lana, I'll help you find your mom. I promise."

She slowly turned back and leaned back on the bench. "What are your parents like?"

"Ah, my parents. They've been dead a long time now. But when they were alive, they tried to take care of me as best they could. I can't blame them for that."

Lana observed him. "Did you fight with your parents? It's okay if you did. I used to fight with my aunt a lot."

Jamous fidgeted somewhat uncomfortably. It had been years since he'd really thought of his parents, and now he was discussing them with this kid who had now been his companion for the last three months due to the most extreme circumstances. It wasn't that Jamous didn't feel comfortable talking about it to Lana: he saw her as a little sister now after their time together. It just brought up old pains that he had not felt in over fifty years.

He looked out across the lake. "My parents could not agree with my career choices. My father was a politician and my mother a Je'daii."

"Your mom was a Je'daii?" Lana asked. "Is that why you have a connection to the Force?"

"I did not feel any connection to the Force when I was young," Jamous explained. "It was only recently that I found my connection. When I was young, my mother had waited expectantly for the day that my Force powers would become manifest, and as each year passed, she grew more and more disappointed to see the chances of me following in her footsteps slip away. When it became obvious that I would not be a Je'daii, my father had wanted me to work under him, become a politician as well, carry on the family name."

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't. Instead, I enrolled at the Tython Archaeological University. I had decided that I wanted to be an archaeologist." He paused for a brief second and took a breath. "Well, to make matters short, my parents were not happy with my decision. We fought over it up until the day I left. We never came to amicable terms, and I never was able to find the time to visit them. Before I knew it, time was up, and they had both passed on. I'm the only Devven left." He looked down at his hands.

Lana turned and hugged him in a fierce embrace. It took him by surprise, but he pulled her close.

"I'm your family now, Jamous," she said quietly, her voice filled with warmth.

"I know you are," he said, holding her tightly. The sunlight shown on his face, and he welcomed the warmth. "I know you are, Lana."

—

Night had descended upon Kyrean. The city had quieted down, but it felt as if there was an almost pervasive mischievousness hanging in the air. Jamous stealthily studied the near-empty streets from his perch on the roof of the inn he and Lana were staying at. After she had fallen asleep, he had decided he would go out and see what he could find about this Stripe character. If there was one thing Jamous couldn't stand, it was a gangster who preyed on others. All was silent as Jamous leapt from the roof of the two story building and fell silently down to the street. He used the Force to cushion his landing.

According to what Lana had told him, this crime lord Stripe had his hand in all the seedy dealings here on the streets of Kyrean. Slavery, extortion, prostitution, drugs . . . Stripe had his grubby little hands in all of it. Even if it was dealings that had nothing to do with him, dealings done by other gangs, those gangs paid Stripe a "tax" on their earnings. It was like a giant scummy empire, and Stripe was it's emperor. The fact that Lana even attempted to infiltrate such a large operation and find her way to Stripe made Jamous smile inside. The kid was nothing if not tenacious.

The good thing for Jamous was that since Stripe ran such an enormous city-wide operation, it would not be hard to find somebody who worked for him. And it didn't take long at all. It was on one of the shadowed sidestreets of the slum district of Kyrean where Jamous had an encounter with one of Stripe's "employees."

"Hey, handsome," a scantily clad twi'lek said to him, a smile on her face. "For just a little cash, I could be yours all night. Keep you warm." She pulled her low cut tunic even lower, revealing her shapely breasts.

"Not tonight I'm afraid," came Jamous's reply, watching the twi'lek's face turn to that of annoyance and then pulling her tunic back up. "But you could still help me out."

"Oh yeah? How's that?" she said roughly, all temptation and lustiness gone from her voice.

"I'm looking for Stripe. I'm guessing you might know someone who can get me connected."

The twi'lek's face suddenly turned to that of fear. "I don't know anything about that, ok? And I'd prefer not to get into any trouble with Stripe."

She turned to walk away, and Jamous gently grabbed her by the arm. "Please, I'm not trying to get you into any trouble. I'm just trying to-"

"Hey!" a gruff voice interrupted him. "Hands off the merchandise, buddy. No taste tests before you pay."

"Gremmy," the prostitute stammered, fear filling her eyes. "I'm not trying to cause any problems, I swear. He just-"

She let out a cry as Gremmy's meaty, Iridonian hand slapped across her face. "Shut up, you whore. I'll deal with you later." He turned to Jamous. "What do you think you're doing with my whore?"

Jamous saw the blushing of a fresh bruise coming across the twi'lek's face where her pimp had slapped her, and he became instantly filled with rage. He didn't hold back. The heavy-set Iridonian jerked back against the alley's wall with loud thud as Jamous unleashed a wave of Force energy from his hand. After the pimp had hit the wall, Jamous kept the energy flowing, pressing him against the wall and inching him upward so that his feet were half a meter off the ground. The gangster's eyes were filled with a crazed fear as he felt the crushing weight of Jamous's power pinning him against the wall. The twi'lek prostitute let out another sharp squeak and ran off.

Jamous walked closer to the gangster, keeping his hand up and letting the Force flow freely out of it. "Now listen here," he said menacingly, "I don't have time for your bullshit nonsense."

"Okay, okay, what do you want?" Gremmy said frantically, his eyes bulging and looking in all directions like a caged animal.

Jamous relieved some of the pressure off the gangster. "Stripe. I know you work for him. Where is he? How do I get into contact with him?"

"Look, man, I'm a low level guy. You think a simple pimp like me is going to have access to the top man?"

"Well, who do you report to?"

The gangster breathed in heavy pants, the weight of Jamous's power bearing down on his lungs. "A rodian named Levo. He runs this district. If anybody had any access to Stripe, it'd be him. He's headquartered out of the club Spurr Nights. That's all I know! I swear!"

Jamous suddenly released his hold on Gremmy, and the Iridonian collapsed to his hands and knees on the cemented ground, breathing heavily. "Are you sure that's all you know?" Jamous asked one more time, voice as cold as ice.

"Yes, I've told you everything. I mean it." The pimp looked up to Jamous. "You won't hurt me?"

Jamous reached behind his back for Blackened Night. "I'm going to make sure you never hurt anyone again."

—

Jamous had decided on a very bold, if somewhat risky, approach on finding Stripe. He had decided the best way to get to Stripe was to get Stripe to come himself. And so, as Jamous slowly made his way through the slum district of Kyrean, headed in the direction of Spurr Nights, he would stop any shady looking character that looked even slightly associated with Stripe and brutally slaughter them into a chaotic, pulpy and bloody mess. Pimps, drug dealers, street robbers . . . the slum district of Kyrean was having a criminal purge. This plan had taken him to almost every back alley of the slum district. Sometimes he'd even find little depots, filled with product and personnel. They didn't stand a chance. A few hours later, Jamous found himself in front of Spurr Nights.

Spurr Nights was a rundown gentlemen's club at the end of a dark alley. The only light was that of the neon lights of the sign. A burly human with tattoos on his face stood at the front door, his arms crossed.

"Club's full," he said in a gravelly voice. "We're not taking anymore people for the night. You'll have to find yourself somewhere else."

Jamous did not reply. He just slowly walked closer and closer to the bouncer.

"Hey!" the bouncer said threateningly, reaching for the blaster on his hip. "I said-"

There was a flash of silver and the butchery sound of metal against skin. The bouncer's headless corpses fell to the ground as his head connected to the wall and then hit the ground with a thud. Jamous sheathed his sword and entered the club.

When he entered the main floor, he was greeted by a cacophony of sites and sounds. Low, gravelly dance music boomed loudly throughout the entire club, so loudly that Jamous couldn't hear the sound of his own breathing. A conglomerate of different colored strobe lights flashed all over, giving the appearance of everything being disconnected. The provocatively dressed women on the stage, dancing and swinging on poles, seemed at a lower frame-rate as the strobe lights flashed incessantly. It was a lot to take in, but Jamous adjusted to the new setting. He pulled out Blackened Night. It was time to go to work.

At the opposite end of the main floor, there was short staircase that lead to an upper landing. It had couches all around, and there sat the rodian Levo, surrounded by fellow gang members and prostitutes. As Jamous made his way towards the upper landing, he began to cut his way through any bouncer that came into contact with him. At first, it was as if his attacks were that of subterfuge. None of the guards noticed him as he cut them down one by one, but finally a woman on a pole saw his katana burst through a bouncer's chest from behind and she let out a blood-curdling scream. It was muted because of the loud music, but when she ran from the stage, everyone in the crowd turned and saw Jamous standing over the bouncer's body, blood on his clothes and slicking his blade.

A mass chaos erupted. Patrons of the club began a max exodus of Spurr Nights, but due to the crowded main floor and the disorienting strobe lights and loud music, they tripped over each other and spilled glasses off of tables.

Through warning of the Force, Jamous turned to see the gangsters on the landing pull their blaster out and aim at him. There were five of them including Levo, and they unleashed a volley of red blaster bolts. Jamous began to duck and weave through the fatal shower of red rain. Patrons of the bar who hadn't managed to get out yet, fell down in muted cries as blaster bolts hit them. The smell of sweat, ozone, and charred flesh filled Jamous's nostrils as he ran and rolled across the main floor, the Force augmenting his speed and reflexes in order to dodge the hail of fire.

The gangsters didn't slow down their fire as Jamous slowly got closer and closer to the stairs that led up to the landing. Once he reached their stairs, two of the thug threw their blasters down and pulled out jagged looking swords. They charged down the staircase at Jamous, menace in their faces, the strobe lights chopping and warping their movement as they descended upon him. The first thug to reach him was a twi'lek with pointed teeth. He brought his sword down, and Jamous sidestepped it while simultaneously cleaving through the thugs leg with his own katana. The twi'lek let out a scream that could not be heard over the loud, pulsating music, and as he fell, Jamous nimbly decapitated him. The corpse and head continued down the stairs, splashing blood over each step and on the banister.

When the second thug reached him, Jamous deflected the first blow of the gangster's sword. He slid his katana down the thug's blade, hacking the man's hand off. Another premonition from the Force prompted Jamous to grab the thug by his shirt and push him up the stairs. The three gangsters left released another volley of blaster fire, and Jamous used the man whose hand he had cut off as a shield. As he pushed his way up the stairs, the thug in his grasp let out cries of pain as his comrades riddle his back with blaster fire.

When Jamous reached the top of the landing, he dumped the gangster's corpse on the landing and then proceeded to unleash hell on the remaining three gangsters. He easily dispatched the two humans on either side of Leto, and when the rodian realised he was the last one standing, he brought his blaster up to face Jamous in a final stand. But that didn't happen. Jamous reached his hand out and used the Force to crush the rodian's blaster pistol, squashing the alien's hand to a pulp in the process. Levo fell to his knees, screaming in agony.

When Jamous dragged the rodian out of the club and dumped him on the pavement in the back alley, the gangster was still crying and moaning in pain. Green, viscous blood spurted from the stump where his hand had been.

Jamous kicked him in the side of the face. "Shut up."

The rodian instantly muffled his cries, fear etched onto his face.

Jamous bent down towards him, brandishing his katana menacingly before him. "You're going to tell me everything I want to know," he said venomously.

The rodian frantically nodded. "Anything, anything," he panted.

"Stripe," replied Jamous curtly, "how do I get to him?"

"You don't just 'get to' Stripe," moaned the rodian. "He brings you to him." Levo grunted once or twice before continuing. "But from the chatter going 'round on the Net, it sounds like he already found you."

It felt as if ice cold water rushed through Jamous's veins. He became rigid, and Levo managed to, somehow through the pain of maimed arm, smile deviously. "What was it called?" he croaked ruefully. "Kyrean Star Inn?" A coughing fit. Then, "After you started your little escapade through the slums, acting as if your invincible and untouchable, Stripe and his people found their own way to you. We're not some bottom scraping gang. We have real connections, an entire spy network that spans all of Kyrean." He let out another croaking laugh. "Word on the net is that Stripe already has your ashen haired little brat."

Jamous didn't hear another word. He raced off back to where he had left Lana, the Kyrean Star Inn. He mentally kicked himself as he ran, augmenting his speed with the Force. How could he have been so stupid? Traipsing through the slums like he was invincble. It had not even crossed his mind that Stripe would have somehow connected him to Lana at the Kyrean Star Inn.

 _"If they've hurt her . . ."_

Jamous cut the thought off. No, nothing would happen to Lana. He could fix this. He would fix this.

 _"How could I have been so careless?!"_

As he ran, he tried to mentally calm himself down, but his panic was overwhelming him. If Lana came to harm because of his own actions, he'd never be able to forgive himself. As Jamous drew nearer to the inn that he left Lana asleep at, he could see a billowing pillar of smoke rising in the air. This only increased the nerves in his system, and he ran faster. When he reached the inn, it was completely ablaze. There was a large crowd watching it burn from the street, many of them patrons of the inn, looking frazzled as they had just escaped the fire.

"Lana!" Jamous cried out against the crowd. He pushed his way past people. "Lana! Are you here?" He frantically looked all around, looking for even just a glimpse of the young girl's ashen hair. "Lana!"

In his frantic state, Jamous ignored his surroundings. All that mattered was finding Lana and making sure she was all right. He didn't notice the shady figure making his way towards him through the crowd. He didn't see this figure discreetly brandishing a hypo-needle in his hand.

Jamous went to call Lana's name again but suddenly felt a hand firmly grab his shoulder. There was a sharp prick in his neck, causing him to flinch, and then slowly at first, but then like crashing wave of water, blackness surrounded him.


	7. Chapter 6

_Author's Note_

 _I'll be brief so that you all can get to this next chapter, because it's quite a big one. Thank you SO much to everyone who has shown me love and support. After chapter 4 was published, I had a huge influx of reviews and private messages. I specifically want to thank alertpoet91 for the excitement and ideas you have given me. Your passion is infectious, and it really helped me get this chapter out in a reasonable time. Enjoy, everyone!_

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

35,354 B.B.Y.

Light. Blurry. Faded yellow. Sounds. Coughing. The clanking of metal. The clattering of chains. Smells. Mold. Dust. Dirt. Body odor. Jamous was introduced to all of these things one at a time as he slowly came out of his unconscious stupor. He opened his eyes slowly to dirty, rocky ground. He was laying on his belly.

"Are you okay?"

Jamous slowly rolled around on his back to find the voice that had spoken to him. His vision was stilled blurred, but he could see the small of figure of a person with ashen hair.

"Lana?" he mumbled.

"What?" It was a woman. "What did you just say?" She got closer to Jamous, and his vision came slowly back to him, he realized this woman wasn't Lana at all. Her hair was the same ashen color as Lana's, but her eyes were a deep hazel, not at all like Lana's fiery blue. She also looked much older than Lana, late thirties maybe, but her face looked like it had gone through the abuse of a hundred years. She had deep wrinkles in her forehead, and purple bags under her eyes. Her lips were thin and chapped, as if she never smiled. She grabbed Jamous by his shoulders and shook him. "Did you just say 'Lana'? What does that name mean to you?"

The haze over Jamous's vision finally lifted completely, and he connected the dots. Before him, in rags for clothing, in this dark, rank cement cell, was Lana's mother. He sat up on his haunches. "I came here, to Kyrean, with Lana, your daughter. We were here to find you."

As he said that, the woman's face exploded into a face a raw, unpracticed joy, like a sun shining on a forest on the first day of spring. Then, it disappeared, and even more worry than before replaced it. "Is she okay? Is my daughter okay?"

"I . . ." Jamous faltered. "I don't know. We were staying at an inn near the slums district. I don't know what's happened. I was there, and now I'm here."

The woman closed her eyes. "My Lana. Here. In Kyrean. Oh, Force, please keep her safe." After that, all worry was gone, and this unfounded determination set in the lines of her face. "My name is Cyri. I am Lana's mother, and we need to get out of here. We need to find Lana."

Jamous looked all around. "Where are we?"

"In Stripe's 'dungeon.' He has a fortress that he has built in the sewers of Kyrean. That's where we are. These are the cages that he holds the slaves or workers that cause him trouble."

"So we're in a dungeon, of a fortress, underneath the sewers of Kyrean?"

"Yes," Cyri replied.

"We have our work cut of for us then, don't we?" Jamous slowly rose to his feet. "I'm Jamous. I've been travelling with your daughter for close to four months now. We came here to find you." He walked over to the iron bar door that kept them locked in the cell and shook it with his hands.

"These cells are very secure," Cyri explained. "Stripe doesn't want anyone causing any more trouble than they're worth."

Jamous suddenly unleashed a wave of Force from his hands, causing the hinges of the door to snap and the lock to break. The door slammed against the hallway wall and then fell. "I don't think Stripe took into account who I really am," he said nonchalantly.

Cyri's mouth was agape. "You're a Je'daii?" she asked surprisedly.

"Not exactly. It's complicated."

Jamous peeked out the cell door and down the hallway on both sides. It was clear. "No guards?" he asked Cyri.

"No one is supposed to be able to break out of these cells," Cyri replied, "and Stripe is known for his big ego and overconfidence."

"Do you know where Stripe would be?"

"Yes, the fool has erected himself a makeshift 'throne room' in the center of his headquarters," she said venomously. "No doubt he's there, condescending on his lackeys and watching his slaves dance for him."

"Take me there," Jamous said. "Quickly."

"But what about Lana?"

A menacing glint shown across Jamous's eyes. "I'll make him tell us where she is. I need my weapons. Would they leave them in a specific room?"

"There is a storage room at the end of the hall. If Stripe didn't mount your weapons on his wall or something like that, then best chances are that they are in there."

The two crept down the hall. It was faintly lit with dirty yellow lights. All was quiet. It surprised Jamous that there were no guards. Wouldn't Stripe want at least one of his gang members down here to make sure that his "prisoners" didn't get into any trouble? If Jamous hadn't had the ability to sense through the rooms for life through the Force, he would have been edgy, thinking that this was a trap.

As they passed the three other cell doors along the hall, Jamous peeked through the bars of each one. The first two were empty, and the third had a woman lying on the floor. Jamous could feel through the Force that her life force was gone. The woman's head had dried and caked blood all around it.

"Malya," Cyri whispered quietly. "She had disappeared a week ago. None of us knew what had happened to her, but it looks like Stripe had thrown her down here."

"Did they execute her?" Jamous asked. He observed the woman's corpse closer. Her face was purple with bruises, and her clothes were ripped and tattered. There were scratches and cuts up and down her arms, and her fingernails were chipped and bent, as if she had been clawing and scratching in self-defense.

Cyri scoffed. "No, they didn't. Once Stripe throws you in his dungeon, you are doomed to a slow and agonizing death of abuse and rape. No one cares about a slave behind bars, so Stripe's men take it upon themselves to make sure we have a torturous death to end a torturous life."

"Well, Lana is not down here, so that's a good thing." He turned around to see anger and sadness and frustration on Cyri's face. "Hey," he said quietly as he put his arm on her shoulder, "I'll make sure Stripe pays for all the pain that he has caused. And we're going to find Lana. I promise."

The last room before the hall broke off into stairs that led up into the fortress did indeed have Jamous's two swords, still in their scabbards, and still hooked onto the belt that held them together. After checking both swords to make sure they hadn't been nicked or broken, Jamous slung them over his head and let the belt hang diagonally across his torso.

He looked to Cyri. "I need you to guide me to this throne room that Stripe has. We need to go quietly. If we come into any contact with his guards, you need to stay quiet and stay low. I will deal with them."

"Okay," Cyri replied. "Follow me."

They quietly stepped up the staircase which ended in another long hallway. There were doors on each side. The walls were covered in a moss and water dripped from the ceiling.

"His 'fortress' isn't all that impressive," Jamous mutters quietly.

"The sewers of Kyrean were built over three hundred years ago. Pipe bursts and overgrown moss and algae are common all throughout. Stripe cares only for his throne room and his personal quarters. All the rest of his base of operations is like this."

There was a scratching of metal on rock as one of the doors at the end of the hall opened. Jamous and Cyri ducked back into the stairs. Jamous put his finger to his lips and looked at Cyri as two pairs of footsteps could be heard coming towards them.

"I say we go down and show that grey haired slave a good time," a slimy, sleazy voice said.

"I don't know about that." The second voice was deep and slow. "She's Stripe's favorite bitch. He'd kill us if we put our hands on her."

"She was his favorite slave," the sleazy voice replied. "But not anymore, hence the reason why she was thrown down in the cages. I say we go down—"  
As they got close to the stairs, Jamous jumped out from his hiding spot in the stairwell, pulling Blackened Night from its sheath. There was the slice of metal against skin and the two gangsters' heads fell to the floor, a clean cut through both of their necks. Both of their heads created criss-crossing trails of blood as they rolled in different directions. Other than the thuds of their headless corpses hitting the ground, all was silent.

Cyri came up from the stairs and looked at the headless corpses, her gaze cold and unfeeling. "Follow me," she said as she stepped over the bodies. "We're almost there."

They continued down the hall. At the end of it was a rickety elevator. Jamous grabbed the handle the caged door. It screeched against the concrete floor. They both entered it, and he shut the door again.

"Which floor?"

"The very top."

There was silence as the elevator slowly climbed up, floor by floor. Jamous stared at the mossy wall through the caged door as it slowly passed them by.

"What is she like?" Cyri whispered.

"Hm?"

"Lana. What is she like?"

Jamous smiled sadly. "She's brash and thinks she knows everything. But she's smart and can take care of herself. She's not afraid to speak her mind." He looked Cyri in the eyes. "She's strong."

The elevator came to a choking stop at the top floor. Through the caged door Jamous could see the one last hallway that ended with a large door. This was different than the bass levels. The hall walls were a sleek white, its carpet a deep red. The door itself was a dark oak wood. The hall branched off in two directions at the door. There was the sound of clinking of glasses, music, and loud voices.

"Stripe must be having a feast."

Jamous probed his surroundings. There was a cluster of bodies inside the main hall, about forty-five from what he could tell. Now were those forty five guards altogether? He couldn't say. One thing that did interest Jamous the most was that there seemed to be no activity in the halls as he probed them. "What are the chances that all the guards are inside in the main hall right now?" he asked Cyri.

"More than likely," she replied. "It's almost impossible to find your way inside Stripe's stronghold if you don't know where it is. When he throws his parties, almost all of his underlings attend."

Jamous mulled it over, trying to figure out the best way he could use that to his advantage. He turned back to Cyri and put his hands on her shoulders. "Okay, listen, you're not going to like this, but I need you to let me go into Stripe's throne room alone." She started to protest, but he interrupted her. "I want you to go into every slave quarter or prison or wherever they are and free them. Find Lana. Lead them out of the sewers and up above to Kyrean. I need you to do this, Cyri."

Cyri nodded. "Okay, I will."

"Find whatever way possible to get them out of here. Just get as far from the stronghold as possible."

Cyri began take a right at the hall of the main door. "Thank you, Jamous. For everything." And with that she disappeared into the branching hallways.

Jamous steadied his breathing. He poured himself into the Force, probing and touching ever person and every corner of the throne room behind that big wooden door, so much so that it was as if he was in the room himself. He could feel the "ping" of every individual's body warmth, and suddenly he was pulled out of his Force trance. Lana. She was in there. He could sense her presence among the muck of people feasting in the throne room.

It completely took him by surprise. To be able to feel her presence in a large group of tightly packed people, it was something that he had never experienced before. He must have had a bond to her in some way. Jamous had read about Force bonds while studying at the monastery, but he had never experienced it with any of the monks there. This bond with Lana was the first time that he had ever experienced it, and it took him by surprise. He could almost hear her thoughts; he could feel her emotions at the same time she felt them. The Force was warm and pure when he felt her presence in it.

This strong and emotional bond that Jamous had just touched caused a whirl of feelings to well up inside of him, but the most prominent emotion was anger. He could feel Lana's unadulterated fear. It rolled off of her in waves. He could feel her anxiety, her thoughts. He could feel the innermost desire in her mind and body, in her whole being: _please don't touch me_. This sudden whisper of Lana's inner thoughts snapped Jamous out of his half-awake state. He walked up to the giant wooden door and pushed it open.

The throne room was large, larger than Jamous had expected it to be. It had heigh ceilings made with tough and shiny durasteel. There were colorful and gaudy rugs all over the floors, and giant tables on both sides of the room. At the very end on a raised platform sat Stripe's "throne." He sat it in it now, and all of his gangsters were sitting around the two tables. They were all eating and drinking, talking loudly in excitement or anger. In the corner of the room was a band of humans and rodians, playing a smooth jazzy tune.

But Jamous didn't see any of this. He only saw Lana. She sat on the floor next to Stripe's throne, her clothes swapped out for a revealing slave outfit. There was a collar around her neck, and connected to the collar was a chain. The chain lead up to Stripe's hand. There was fear etched all over her face, and to see her chained and in such an objectifying outfit filled Jamous with red rage. It took every ounce of his willpower not to charge Stripe right now and annihilate him.

As Jamous walked down the aisle between the two tables, the throne room grew quiet and all eyes were on him. He stopped about six meters in front of Stripe's throne. When Lana saw him, her faced filled with a combination of relieved joy and great fear. Jamous only nodded to her. All was quiet.

"You're the bastard who decided to put his nose in my business last night," Stripe said. He was short and had rat-like features. His skin was pale and his eyes were like black little beads. As soon as he stated this, every armed man in the room had his blaster aimed on Jamous. Stripe continued. "Do you have any idea how much money and manpower you cost me last night?" He stood up from his throne. "Who do you think you are, huh? Who are you to think you can just come into my city and mess with my business?"

Jamous remained cool on the outside, but he was fuming on the inside. "I'm here for Lana. Give her to me, and I will leave."

"You mean this bitch?" Stripe yanked on the chain connected to Lana's collar, and the girl let out a cry as she was jerked closer to Stripe. She spilled on the floor face-first in front of Stripe's feet. "Oh, no, no, this girly is mine." There was a wicked glint in Stripe's eyes. "She looks just like the woman who has been my favorite slave for years, yet younger, more vivacious." He licked his lips, as he bent down and pulled her by her hair. "This one is mine." Lana let out another timid and pitiful cry as her head was jerked back. It was a cry of pain and fear.

A mixture of white hot hatred and red flaming rage filled the very innermost part of Jamous's being, and he dropped his calm facade. "Take your fucking hands off of her," he said quietly and menacingly, "before I gut you like a pig."

If Jamous's threat caused Stripe any concern, he didn't show it. Instead he laughed, a shrill and maniacal cackle. "You think you can just come in here to my stronghold filled with my men and then tell me what to do?"

Jamous pulled both Blackened Night and the sword Delroth had given him and wielded one in each hand, Delroth's sword in his left and Blackened Night in his right. "Last chance, Stripe. Let her go."

Stripe suddenly unlatched the chain around the collar of Lana's neck. "Let him have it, boys!" he shouted and began to pull the girl to a door by his throne.

But Jamous wasn't able to focus on him very long. A deluge of red blaster bolts was unleashed upon him. They missed their mark. By the time the blaster fire had reached its destination, Jamous had leaped high, using the Force to escape danger. The thugs looked up at him as he flew through the air. Some fired haphazardly at him as he fell back down, but each shot was off its mark.

Jamous landed on top of the big dining table on the left side of the throne room. As soon as his feet touched the table's top, the chopping block began. It was as if Blackened Night and Delroth's sword took a life of their own. Screams of pain erupted and bounced off the walls as Jamous cut through Stripe's gangsters. It was a chaotic explosion of pure violence. He could feel the gangsters' blood splattering all over him every time one of his blades sunk into flesh. There was no mercy, no quarter. They would all die by his hand.

The gangsters on the right side of the throne room had not been deterred by the slaughtering of their comrades. They threw barrage after barrage of blaster fire at Jamous, but they never seemed to hit him. Their blaster bolts hit everything else: the walls, the floors, the corpses, even the gangsters that were still alive. And then Jamous turned to them and unleashed death.

He augmented his speed with the Force, and before the remaining gangsters could even process it, he was in the midst of them. The proceeding chaos and carnage was brutal and quick. In no time, Jamous stood amongst the slaughter of over forty of Stripe's men. His wounds were minimal, a few blaster bolts had grazed him on his side and his left arm, but it was only surface level. They were tender burns, but nothing that he could not stand.

Jamous ran up the platform of Stripe's throne and through the door where the kingpin had taken Lana. "Stripe!" he screamed. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, stirring the hate and fury within him into a conglomeration of death and blood lust.

Jamous found himself running in a single hallway, no doors on either side. Before him was a metal door, sealed tight. But this obstacle posed no problem. Fueled by anger and the darkness of Bogan, Jamous ripped the door off of it's hinges with the Force and tossed it aside. He entered what must have been Stripe's quarters. It was garish and gaudy. Trophies of animal heads lined the wall; a heavy incense burned throughout the entire room; expensive and lush rugs covered the floor. There was a heavy wooden bed and desk in the room, sleek and dark. This room truly was the room of the richest gangster in all of Kyrean and probably the continent of Thyr.

Jamous took all of this in without the second thought, for before him was Lana and Stripe. The gangster was behind the girl and had his arm around her neck. In his other hand was a sickly curved blade. "Don't come any closer!" he shouted. "Or else I'll run the hag through."

"I gave you a chance, Stripe. Let the girl go."

"How dare you! No one tells me what to do! No one!" Stripe screamed, as if on the borderline of throwing a temper tantrum. The gangster pushed Lana at Jamous, and if Jamous had not had the Force and was not able to sense the oncoming danger, he most likely would have died.

As Stripe pushed Lana toward Jamous, he pounced with a speed that was almost inhuman, his blade ready to strike Jamous from the right side of Lana. With barely any time to spare, Jamous used the Force to levitate Lana out of the way. He lost concentration of her as he brought his swords up for a parry so she was roughly dropped to the ground. There was a piercing pain as Jamous realized his parry was too late to catch all of Stripe's blade as it dug into the left side of his chest.

When Jamous grunted in pain, Stripe laughed. The blade had not gone deep enough to cause internal damage, but it let out a splattering of blood all over the gangster's curved blade.

Stripe unleashed another volley of strikes with his blade. Again, his incredible speed and agility surprised Jamous. He did his best to block and parry every strike, but some fell through his guard, nicking him and slicing him from shoulders to thighs. They broke away from each other and prepared for another bout.

"Calm yourself," Jamous thought to himself, though the voice inside his head sounded more like Delroth than his own. "You're letting your anger cloud your mind. Focus."

Jamous took a deep breath, and the kingpin came at him again. Stripe's abilities were admirable from an unbiased point of view. The man was quick, his reflexes were fast, and his agility was far above that of any normal man. But when he came to attack once again, Jamous was ready this time. He used both of his swords to block each strike. The more he blocked Stripe's attacks, the more frustrated the gangster became. He began to strike faster and more recklessly. It was then that Jamous found his opening. Stripe came at Jamous with a swipe from the right. Jamous brought his first blade down on Stripe's own, and as their blades connected, he brought down his other sword down on the gangster's wrist.

Stripe let out a scream as Jamous's blade cleaved through his wrist. His blade clanged to the floor along with his hand. Jamous delivered a hard kick to the gangster's chest, causing him to fall onto his back, blood spurting from the stump where his hand used to be. Stripe's cries of pain stopped completely when he saw the tip of Jamous's sword at his neck. He tried to pull himself backwards with his remaining hand.

"Please," he begged. "Please."

Jamous remained silent. He took another step towards the crippled gangster.

"Not like this," sobbed Stripe. "Not like this." He slowly made his way back until he could sit up against the base of his bed.

"I gave you a chance," Jamous said coldly. "It's over now."

Stripe's face turned from one of pity and fear to one of anger in an instant. "I say when it's over!" The man suddenly pulled a small blaster from his right boot and brought it up towards Jamous. It happened so quick: the final clash. As Stripe put his finger on the trigger, Jamous was in the process of raising his swords.

And then blaster fire rang through the chamber . . . and Stripe's head exploded into a large, hazy red mist. His body fell to the floor on its side. Jamous looked to where the blaster shot had come from. There stood Lana, shakily holding a blaster that she had pulled from a drawer in Stipe's desk. She stared at Stripe's corpse with wide eyes, but when she looked at Jamous, she dropped the pistol and ran to him. They embraced in a fierce hug.

Jamous bent down to one knee, his hands on each shoulder of Lana. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly. "Did he hurt you?"

Lana wiped away fresh tears that fell from her face. "I'm okay. I was so scared, Jamous."

Jamous hugged her again. "I know, Lana. I know." He stood up and pulled a blanket from Stripe's bed, giving it to Lana so she could wrap it around herself. "Let's get you out of here."

Lana didn't move. "Jamous."

"What is it, Lana?"

"Thank you. I . . . I don't know what I would do without you."

Jamous turned back to her and kneeled one more time. "Lana, you don't have to thank me. I want to thank _you_. For being there right when I need a friend the most." He opened his arms, and the girl hugged him one more time. Jamous looked at her with a smile. "Come one. There's someone who's dying to meet you."

—

When Jamous and Lana made their way out of Stripe's sanctuary, back to the surface of Kyrean, there stood Cyri, pacing frantically. When she saw Jamous her eyes went immediately to Lana, full of happiness and sadness, belief and disbelief. Jamous looked at Lana. The girl stood there, eyes wide, transfixed on her mother. She looked up to Jamous, stunned.

He nudged her. "Go on."

Cyri and Lana slowly started to walk to each other, but soon after both broke out in a run, meeting in the middle with a fierce embrace. Lana cried in her mother's arms, and the ashen haired woman gently stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head, a few tears escaping her own eyes as well.

"My child," she said shakily. "Oh, my child."

Lana only grabbed onto her mother harder.

Jamous observed all of this from where he stood. The site of Lana and Cyri reuniting after so many years filled him with a tremendous sense of joy, one that he had not felt since his time with Delroth.

 _"Delroth, you old bastard, I hope you saw this,"_ Jamous thought to himself, and thinking of his old friend brought a smile to his lips.

But still . . . even though there was only joy and happiness for Lana and her mother, Jamous felt something underneath it all, something that filled him with a sense of uneasiness and dread.

"Hey!" Lana's voice shook Jamous from his thoughts. She had her mom's hand in one of her own and reached her other hand out to Jamous. "Well, come on! Let's go to the lake and get more frozen treats! You're buying."

Jamous laughed. He walked over to Lana and took her hand. "You just can't help but tell me what to do, huh, kid?"

Lana's laughed. "I'm not a kid, Jamous! How many times do I have to tell you that?" She let go of her mom's hand and hugged Jamous tightly. He looked down to her only to see a mischievous smile on her face. "Now, you have to buy me two."

—

Jamous stared at the ceiling while he lay in bed. He, Lana, and Cyri had wandered around Kyrean for most of the day before finding an inn to sleep in for the night. All throughout the remaining of the day, that sense of dread Jamous had felt after reuniting mother and daughter had only grown. And now, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Lana and Cyri sleeping in the bed next to his own, he realized where that sense of dread came from: the curse of his immortality.

Jamous had watched Delroth age and die, while he himself stayed the same. To get to know someone, to become their brother, and then to watch them die, while knowing that he would have to go on indefinitely, it was a painful experience. One that he did not want to experience again.

Lana and Cyri needed someone stable and constant. Jamous was a wanderer, someone who always found himself in the thick of bad situations. He was a soul with no home and no family. No matter how hard he tried to justify it, Jamous could not see himself dragging Lana and Cyri through any more than what they had already experienced. It just was not fair to them.

And that's why, while laying in bed, Jamous had decided that he needed to leave. Now. While they slept. If Lana knew he was leaving, she would try to make him stay, and Jamous knew he would, because Lana always got her way when it came to him. She held a soft spot in his heart.

Noiselessly, Jamous got out of bed and collected his things. As he went to leave the room, he stopped by Lana's bedside and looked at her one more time. She was just still so young, only fourteen, to have gone through all the things that she did. He knew it would take her a long time to heal. He remembered the nightmares she would have as they traveled across Tython in order to get to Kyrean. But she was strong. And she could make it on her own. Lana was a fighter.

Jamous made his way out of the room and down the stairs. It wasn't till he was out on the street, in front of the inn, when he felt someone touch his shoulder from behind. He turned. It was a Cyri.

"Are you just going to leave without saying goodbye?" she asked, sadness in her eyes.

"Cyri," Jamous started. "We both know Lana. She would not let me leave if she knew I was trying to."

A small smile formed on Cyri's lips. "Yes, I've seen that already in the short time we've been together. The girl gets what she wants."

Jamous put his hand on the woman's shoulder. "Take care of her, Cyri. And I'm sorry. I know that it will be rough tomorrow when she wakes up and sees I'm gone. But this is for the best. For both of you. I have to move one."

Cyri hugged him. "You will find where you belong, Jamous. And Lana and I will always be here for you if you ever need anything. I can't thank you enough for everything you've done."

Jamous returned the embrace. "Goodbye, Cyri."

And with that, Jamous disappeared into the darkness of the night streets of Kyrean. Once again, alone.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

35,339 B.B.Y.

A cool breeze blew through the plain's grass and across Jamous's face. The sun shone, it's golden rays dropping down and touching everything with a warm embrace. Wildlife called and coo'ed in the trees that lined the green and grassy plain. The sky was the lightest of blues, white, wispy clouds dotted throughout. The leaves of the trees and the tall blades of grass joined together in sound as the wind gently pushed and pulled them, creating the sound of the waves of a flora see, gently brushing up on the shore. It was a beautiful day, and Jamous sat in the grass of the plain, absorbing all of it.

For the last ten years, he had spent a life of reclusion on the continent of Talss, spending his days in meditation and contemplation. He had spent his time trying to become one with the nature around him, to connect his aura to the Force with that of the trees, and the plants, and the animals. Upon experiencing that bond with Lana in Stripe's stronghold over ten years ago, Jamous had become exposed to a side of the Force that he had never experienced, a more personal side, one that seemed to almost give the Force sentience, as much as Jamous hated to admit that.

So he had come out here, deep in the forests and wilderness of Talss, intent on studying the Force through nature and introspection. It had been tough at first, but after a time, Jamous found his relationship with the Force had become strengthened. He could feel the Force under his feet in the presence of the creatures burrowing deep underground. He could put his hand on a tree trunk and feel the Force coursing through the roots and veins underneath the tree's bark. It was truly an otherworldly experience. It gave Jamous a sort of head high that he had never experienced before.

But underneath that, underneath that foundation that was the Force, underneath the aura that encompassed them all, there was something more, a raw kind of power. Jamous didn't know how to describe it. He didn't know if this power, underneath it all, was the Force, or if it was something else. It was so far buried, so deep, underneath the essence of life, underneath the very essence of the Force itself. He had not tapped into it, nor had he touched it, but he could feel it. It was raw, uncontrollable, chaotic, and yet beautiful all at the same time. This power confused Jamous. The Force was the foundation of all life, but could there possibly be another power, one untamed, that was the foundation for the Force itself? It all hurt his head too much, so he had spent his time in meditation pondering and puzzling over the power beneath the Force. The more he meditated on it, the more he thought about it, the more confusing it became. No one had mentioned this power to him before, not Delroth nor the Monks of the Fallen Arts.

There was only one person that could answer any of these questions that Jamous had. One person who would have any knowledge of this power and what it was and how it worked. Someone that Jamous had not seen in almost seventy years. The person that had turned him into the man he was now: Mortis. Only Mortis could answer Jamous's questions. Only Mortis would have an explanation (though probably cryptic) for what this power was. Jamous had not seen or heard from Mortis, and he honestly expected never to see him again . . . but that was going to change. Today. Today, even though he didn't know, Jamous would have his second encounter with Mortis.

After spending a few hours in the plains, Jamous had may his way back to his hut. It was a simple clay structure with a thatched roof, nestled against the side of a hill, a pond with lily pads, surrounded by fronds, next to it. His hut was exactly the same make as Delroth's, though the location was not as nice: no little lake with beautiful waterfalls. But Jamous made it work. Inside his hut was a roughly planked floor (an upgrade from Delroth's hut). His only furniture was a bed, a table and two chairs, and a cabinet. There was also a fire pit in the middle of the hut for the winters.

Jamous had sat in one of the chairs at his little table and lit a fresh cigarette when he felt a presence in the Force, one that no sentient being on Tython could emit. There was only one person (or being) that it could be.

"Are you going to just stand out there or come on in?" Jamous called from inside his hut, taking a drag from his cigarette.

The rough hewn blanket that hung at the portal of the entrance to Jamous's hut moved to the side, and in walked Mortis. He still had his long white beard and his tall pointy hat. His sharp, gray eyes took in the interior of the hut before resting on Jamous. "Very quaint," he said, his tone slightly condescending.

Jamous pulled the second chair out from the table. "I've got all the time in the galaxy. Feel like roughing it for a few years."

The mysterious man sat down on the roughly hewn chair. "I can see that."

Jamous took a drag from his cigarette. "So what brings you here? It's been, what? Seventy years? I thought I'd never see you again."

Mortis chuckled at Jamous's attempt of feigning indifference. He didn't say anything in reply to the snarky questions.

Jamous took another drag from his cigarette and eyed Mortis. He was attempting to put up an attitude of being carefree, as if he wasn't the least bit surprised by Mortis's appearance. But inside, there were so many question Jamous wanted to ask Mortis. There were so many things he had experienced on his journeys these past seventy years that gave him so many questions, and he knew only Mortis could answer. He exhaled the smoke from his drag. "So where have your travels taken you over these last few decades?"

Mortis stroked his moustache. "I've been around the outer rims of your galaxy. There is a force, a species, that is beginning its rise to power."

"But how is that possible?" Jamous asked. "Without the ability of travelling faster than light, how are they able to travel to different systems. We've been stuck here in the Tython system for almost a thousand years with no ability to leave. Hell, we haven't even colonized the other planets in our system let alone leave it."

Mortis chuckled once again. "Oh, Jamous, you are but a small brush stroke compared to the overall painting of the galaxy. I have seen alien races build empires and create technology that you here on Tython will not have access to for another fifteen thousand years. Do not be misguided like so many of your Je'daii companions to think that your connection to the Force makes you the centerpiece of the painting."

"But isn't the Force what connects and links everything in the galaxy? Isn't it the glue that holds life together?"

There was a judging smile in Mortis's eyes. "So you have been trained by the Je'daii then?"

Jamous looked away as if ashamed. "No, I have not. I have met some Je'daii in my travels across Tython, but I have never entered their temples nor learned at their feet. I have done much meditation these last ten years and have learned much about its intricacies, its relationship with the galaxy."

"You're knowledge of the Force is but a drop of water into an ocean-covered planet," Mortis replied cryptically.

Jamous stubbed out his cigarette frustratedly and threw it on the ground. "Did you come here to talk in half-sensical riddles and metaphors?" he said spitefully.

"No, I didn't. As pitiful as it has been, I admire your attempts at growing a closer relationship to the Force. I thought I could come here and offer you some . . . guidance."

Jamous lit another cigarette.

"Those things can kill you, you know?" Mortis said as Jamous exhaled smoke.

"Very funny," he replied sarcastically.

There was a brief moment of silence before Mortis resumed talking. "Jamous, I know you've felt It. Maybe even briefly touched It."

"So . . . you know," Jamous said surprisedly. "You know about this power. This . . . this chaotic power beneath the Force. I don't even know how to describe it. But yes, I have felt it. And I have never heard any Force user mention it let alone talk about it."

"They would not. They do not have the abilities that you have. They would not be able to feel it unless they spent years upon years in meditation, solely to search for it."

"But what is it?" Jamous asked impatiently. "What is it called? What is its purpose?"

Mortis sat in contemplation for a short while before he replied. "This power, this layered 'foundation of the Force,' is called the Great Connection. It is what sparked the creation of your galaxy thirteen million years ago. It is what created the Force. It is what created me, and my son, and my daughter."

Jamous sat in shock, dumbfounded. What Mortis was insinuating was beyond his belief and almost beyond his understanding. How? How could this Great Connection work? Where did it come from? "And there is a way to access this . . . this Great Connection?"

"Yes, and no," Mortis replied. "You beings of this galaxy can access it, but you cannot harness it. You cannot control it. It would destroy you." He leaned forward ominously. "Jamous, you have felt its presence beneath the Force. You are more attuned to the Force, so it has been possible, but do not try to harness this power. It will be the end of you. Your body and consciousness is too fragile. Either your body will break, or your mind will, turning you into a raving madman."

"But how? Why can I sense this power? Every time I access the force, I feel the Great Connection looming underneath. It has become an itch that I cannot shake. It is always there in the back of my thoughts. I do not know what to do, Mortis. Help me understand. Please."

Mortis stood. "Let us walk, Jamous. This hut is far too stuffy for me."

They walked through the forest. The sun had started to set, leaving red and yellow rays poking through the shaded canopy above. All was quiet, which was very weird to Jamous. Usually the birds and animals were calling out around this time of day. It was not normal for it to be so quiet.

"There is a species that has built an empire across the galaxy these last thirty thousand years or so," Mortis finally broke the silence. "They are known as the Kwa. Though I fear their power will only dwindle as time goes on."

Jamous remained silent. He didn't know where Mortis was going with this.

Mortis continued. "The Kwa are a species steeped deep in the Force. Over the millenia, they have become more powerful in it, more capable, and more knowledgeable." He looked up at the sky. "The Old City, where you found me those years ago . . ."

"Was it built by the Kwa?" Jamous interjected, his inner archaeologist coming out.

"No," Mortis replied. "It was built by an even more ancient civilization. But that does not matter. The Kwa inhabited the Old City when they once populated Tython, before the Tho Yor brought your kind here."

"What does this have to do with the Great Connection?"

"Everything, Jamous. Everything." Mortis stopped walking and looked Jamous in the eyes. "The Kwa created something, forged with the power of the Force. A medallion. This artifact is the only way someone on your plain of existence can access the Great Connection without being consumed."

The implications of this blew Jamous away, his disappointment being completely washed away. He could, in fact, possibly harness this Great Connection? What would the results of that be? What would happen?

There was a sly glint in Mortis's eye. "That medallion is here, on Tython, in the Old City."

"How is that possible?" Jamous asked. "If the Kwa did not build the Old City, then why would their technology be in it? Wouldn't they have taken something so important with them when they fled the planet?"

Mortis waved his hand as if swatting at an annoying fly. "It does not matter why it's there or how it got there. If you would like to access this Great Connection, then this Kwa medallion is your only option."

Jamous thought it over. The Great Connection had been this unknown entity for the past few years. Something that he could acknowledge but not access. It had become this metaphorical itch in the center of Jamous's back. One that he could not reach but only got worse the longer he didn't itch it. It was a drug in its own way. One that Jamous just wanted to take one hit of.

When he turned to talk to Mortis, Jamous realized the cryptic figure was gone. He had just disappeared into thin air.

As Jamous pulled out a new cigarette and lit it, he pondered over his recent interaction with Mortis. Something just didn't feel right. Mortis didn't just go out of his way to help somebody. Jamous didn't know that for sure, but the mysterious figure just let off this vibe that he didn't do anything out of the goodness of his heart. There was a reason that Mortis told jamous of this Kwa medallion.

 _"Because he want to see you make a mess of things."_ There was no doubt that Mortis gave Jamous immorality because the man wanted to see the interesting things that would happen if he gave a human the gift of eternal life.

But even though Jamous knew that finding this medallion was not a good idea, he couldn't help but seriously think over going to find it. He couldn't explain it, but he needed to find this medallion. He need to access this Great Connection. It was as if he had been wandering through a great desert; and the only source of water was poisoned, but he just couldn't help himself. He was so thirsty that he needed to drink it. That is how the Great Connection felt. Jamous knew that if he accessed it, more than likely bad things would happen. This power was the creator of the Force, the creator of the galaxy! Nothing good would happen if a mere human accessed it.

"But what do I have to lose?" Jamous thought to himself. He wasn't dying any time soon, and the ten years of isolation and meditation, while being good for him, had made him a tad bit ancy. The call of adventure tugged at him. Going back to the Old City for the first time in almost seventy years made his heart leap.

And what if nothing bad did happen? What if Jamous accessed the Great Connection, and a whole new plain of power opened up before him? He was in no way a master of the Force. He did not know every part of it, but he had been a Force user for decades. He felt comfortable accessing another mystical power. What's the worse that could happen?

Jamous took a drag from his cigarette. He knew he was rationalizing over this like an addict would over taking one more hit of spice. But still . . . he wasn't an addict, and this wasn't spice. This was the Great Connection. Something he knew nothing about. Something that more than likely no Je'daii knew about. Something that would rip a normal person apart mentally and physically if they even barely touched it. Something that Mortis mysteriously encouraged him to gain access to.

What could possibly go wrong?


	9. Interlude II

**Interlude II**

1 A.B.Y.

"You come to me because you seek power?"

Luke watched as the mysterious man named Jamous poked the logs of their small fire with an iron rod. They had travelled further inland to a small hut nestled against the side of a sloping hill. The inside was plain with just a bed and chair, and the fire pit where they sat now rested in front of the hut. It was the quarters of true hermitage, something that Luke suspected Jamous was an expert in.

"I want you to help us defeat the Empire. No matter what that is."

Jamous set the iron rod down after the flames began to dance a little higher, a small smile on his face. "Yes, but you personally seek power. I can feel it in you. Your connection to the Force, it's raw and excited, yet untamed. You know it's there, but you can not control it with your own will."

Luke looked into the flames and said nothing. Thoughts of the Force brought his mind to Ben Kenobi, and that was a wound that still had not healed. He look up from the fire to see Jamous inspecting him, like he was a subject in a test lab.

"Yes," Jamous ruminated. "You have just become aware of your connection. But it is not pure. I sense the colors of others' Force connection mixed in with your own. Two men, one light and the other dark. Two connections that I have felt before. Two men I was once close with."

Jamous's last statement caused Luke to start. "You . . ." he stammered. "Old Ben and Vader. You knew them?"

"Once, yes."

Luke stood. "Jamous, I need your help. I need training. Ben is gone. I watched Vader strike him down on the Death Star." He clenched his fists. "Vader must pay for what he's done. He is pure evil, and I have to kill him, to rid the galaxy of him."

Jamous motioned for Luke to sit back down. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his bag and lit a fresh one. He exhaled the smoke.

"I have to kill him," Luke said as he sat back down, almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

"You may find that Darth Vader is more relatable than you think. He is only a man. And any man can be turned from the current path that he walks."

Luke scoffed. "More cryptic dribble." He abruptly stood up again. "I wish for once someone would actually tell me what's going on. I'm not a kid anymore." He turned and began to walk away. To where? He had no idea. He just wanted time to be alone.

 _What am I even doing here?_ He thought to himself. _I should be with Leia and Han, planning the next move. Not on some backwater planet talking to some crazy hermit. Leia, why did you send me here? Who is this man?_

It had only been a year since the Rebellion had destroyed the Imperial Death Star. Luke had never felt so proud in his life. On that day, he had wished that Old Ben had still been alive to see it. He wished his father had been there. The best pilot in the galaxy. Luke felt his father would have been impressed with his piloting skills during that battle.

But ever since the Battle of Yavin, Luke had felt lost. Yes, he had the Rebellion, and, yes, defeating the Empire was what he would strive for. But he had all these confusing and mixed emotions pent up inside of him. He had learned of the Force and his connection to it. He had learned of his Jedi father, the brother of Old Ben Kenobi. But now that Ben was gone, Luke had no one to guide him. What good was the Force if he couldn't harness it?

Luke felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see that Jamous had followed him. The man had a kind smile in his eyes. It shone through his long hair and beard. "Luke," he said, "I will help you in any way I can. There is a destiny upon you. I feel it in the Force, and the Force is very strong in you. You have untapped potential."

Luke reached into his satchel and pulled Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber from it. Jamous looked down to the rough cylindrical handle and brushed his fingers against it. His face contorted into an array of features: joy, happiness, sadness, fear, anger, but most of all: overwhelming sorrow. All of these emotions crossed Jamous's face, as if he was suddenly transported back to a different time and shot through many events all at once. "This is . . ." he said breathlessly.

Luke held his head high, proudly saying, "The lightsaber of Anakin Skywalker. My father. I must become powerful enough to slay Vader and avenge my father and Old Ben. I have to save the galaxy from the Empire."

A sad look crossed Jamous's face. "I will help you train, Luke. But remember this: no good comes from power. If you seek it only it, it will consume you. You will learn what the true meaning of pain is."


	10. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

35,339 B.B.Y.

 _I am still me. At least, I look like me._ Jamous looked at his reflection in the calm and clear waters of a small pond that he had found on his way to the Old City. The sight of his appearance had prompted him to shave and cut his hair. Fifteen years without looking into a mirror had netted him a beard that went down to his chest and long hair to the middle of his back. He'd done the best he could to clean up with the small utility knife he carried, and he now sported a short, edged beard and hair that rested just above his shoulders.

Sixty-one years had passed. His face had not changed a bit. His complexion was still the same as that fated day when he had entered the Old City. His body was still as it was but even better. He was leaner; his muscles were more sinewy; and his reflexes and speed were better than they ever had been. Time truly was nothing to Jamous Devven. He was pushing one hundred years of age but still had the body and mind of a twenty-five year old in his peak years.

But he was not invincible. No, not at all. Jamous had a countless number of scars all over his body from his encounters over the years. It was as if the universe was balking at his agelessness, throwing him into every perilous situation it could . . . but he had prevailed against all opposition. After years and years of facing enemies and defeating them, Jamous had slowly, yet surely, started to believe in his heart that there was no one who could truly get in his way.

"Careful, Jamous," Delroth had said to him one time after he had decimated a gang of roaming thugs in Edge Forest back during their hermitage. He had told Delroth that he felt invincible, that he felt that his abilities had reached their peak, that no thugs on Tython stood a chance against him.

"Small encounters with thugs and gangsters is no way to scale your abilities," the twi'lek had lectured him as they sat smoking cigarettes next to the lake of his hut. The old Je'daii's lectures had grown more frequent the older he got. But Jamous had found that endearing. "When you grow prideful and overconfident in your abilities, you become careless. When you're careless, you die."

But that had been fifty years ago. Delroth hadn't been there to see him take out the Monks of the Fallen Arts. He hadn't been there to see Jamous take out Stripe and his criminal underground. Jamous hated to say this, but even though time had no effect on him, boredom did . . . and he was starting to get bored. There was no challenge, and even if there was, Jamous knew his abilities would be able to see him through to the end of it. He'd had years to hone his skills, both in terms of combat and in terms of the Force.

That is why the more he thought about this Great Connection over the last two weeks as he travelled to the Old City, the more he became comfortable with trying to at least grasp at it, maybe even harness it. His second hermitage had let him grow a more personal connection to the Force. If this Great Connection was the next step in terms of his growth, then it was only obvious that he should try to learn more about it. He had the experience and the knowledge and the time. If any being in the galaxy were to access this Great Connection, it should be him. Jamous would never say it aloud, he'd only ever secretly acknowledge it in his mind: he was more than likely one of the most powerful Force users on the entire planet.

Jamous chuckled as he packed up his things and continued down the forested path towards the Old City. If Delroth could hear him thinking the things that he was thinking, the old man would throw a fit. But the old twi'lek was of a different breed, yet he had been the most powerful yet humble person Jamous had ever known. _I miss you, old friend._

The trees slowly cleared and the ancient, cryptic ruins of the Old City sprawled out before Jamous. It had been a long time since he had been here—this was the place that had changed his life forever. Yet, it had not changed in the slightest. Here it still stood as it always had, melancholy and brooding. And it was here that Jamous would change his life again. Here somewhere, amidst the faceless and sorrowful structures was his outlet to the Great Connection, his chance to enter into a new realm of the Force, if the Great Connection was even part of the Force. Jamous still really didn't know exactly what it was, but that was going to change. Soon.

As Jamous's boot shuffled from the scattered dirt of the forest floor to the chipped, stained cobbled street of the Old City, he was suddenly washed over with a warm, almost nostalgic, feeling in the Force. It was like coming home for the first time in years after being away, fighting some great war or traveling some great journey. It flushed his skin, and filled his stomach with a warm presence. _This feeling . . . what could it be?_

Things were getting a lot more interesting . . .

—

Jamous peaked around the corner of the building that he had taken refuge behind. Before him rested a small camp, nestled in the shadow of the most central and largest spire in the entire Old City. He had been rounding the corner when he had stumbled across it. Not wanting to be seen, Jamous had hidden back around the corner. He wasn't going to approach until he had a proper survey of what exactly he was dealing with.

There was only one tent with maybe about three of four supplies crates surrounding it. Unlit glow lamps were scattered around the boxes for light when the night came. One single chair sat in front of the modest tent, a tiny fire pit in front of it. But none of this interested Jamous. What took him by surprise was the emblem that was woven into the fabric on the sides of the tent: two upside down chevrons overlaid a reverse triangle, the Tython Archaeological University. The site of the school's insignia took Jamous's breath away. He was suddenly filled with the memories of his past life: sadness for what once was but also happiness that his alma mater was still around. Was this what had caused that feeling in the Force he had felt when he first entered the Old City?

The shadow of the central spire grew longer as Tython's sun began to set, and the moons Ashla and Bogan became more visible. Jamous took one more scan of the surroundings of the small archaeologist camp. It seemed that no one was here. Maybe the archaeologist was still out surveying the Old City? Or maybe the camp had been abandoned? It was a surprise to Jamous that the school was still studying the Old City. Yes, it was massive, but would they still send students and faculty into the catacombs and cave systems under the city after what had happened to him and his team? The Je'daii still didn't mind the school poking around this ancient and mysterious place?

He crept toward the tent in a low crouch, looking left and right. No one here to stop him. Jamous inspected the supply crates. Surveying tools, random equipment, food, first aid gear—it was the kind of supplies one would expect on an expedition, nothing of interest and nothing that would alert him to what exactly the school was doing here.

Upon entering the tent, Jamous found some personal effects of its occupant: a datapad and a change of clothes. There was a cot in the center of the tent and not much else besides a washbasin and a makeshift night stand. The cot had been neatly made, signifying to Jamous that whoever had set up this camp still had to be near-

"Alright, you slummy hobo," a female voice, alert and half-annoyed, suddenly said behind Jamous, "I don't know what you're doing in my tent, but I want you to turn around slowly. I've got a blaster pointed right at you, so don't even think of doing anything stupid."

"All right, all right," Jamous said calmly, mentally kicking himself for not being more aware of what was going on outside of the tent. He slowly turned to face the woman. "I don't mean to . . ." Jamous's voice trailed off when he turned to see the archaeologist, her blaster still trained on him.

She was in her late twenties with a slender and womanly figure. Her skin was a beautiful pale white. Her eyes were the most intense blue, and they were set in a very comely face. The woman had pronounced ashen hair, tied back in a messy bun. When she looked at Jamous, her mouth opened agape, and she absentmindedly lowered her blaster pistol.

"Lana?" Jamous said in total amazement. He was suddenly filled with that warm feeling in the Force as when he had first entered the Old City. It made sense now. He had felt Lana in the Force, except she wasn't just that fiery kid anymore. She had grown up into a stunning woman.

"Jamous?" Lana replied, also in amazement with a mix of confusion. "Is that really you?"

An old smile formed on Jamous's face. "Lana," he said again in what was now overwhelming joy. He started to walk towards her. "I never would have thought-"

Lana slapped Jamous across the face, interrupting him and stopping him in his tracks. The sound of her palm connecting with his face rang out, and his cheek began to turn a very deep, flushed red. His face was overcome with a mortified expression, but before he could react, Lana exploded into a fury of anger.

"How could you leave like that?" she shouted, her voice and face filled with tormented emotion.

Jamous had no words. He was surprised by her reaction but also not surprised at all. Yes, she would be upset that he had left without so much a "goodbye," but did the fact that he had not changed one bit these last fifteen years mean nothing to her?

She glared at him, the fire in her eyes seeming to have only grown more intense as she had grown into a woman. "Well?" she said impetuously. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Lana, I-" Jamous stuttered. He truly was flabbergasted, first because she was actually here in front of him and second because she really looked angry at him. He knew Lana's angry face when he saw it, and the only thing that had changed about it these past fifteen years was that it had only grown more intimidating. "I had to leave, Lana. I couldn't stay with you. You're not surprised by my appearance in the least, and that tells me that you have somewhat of an idea of what's going on with me. You should understand why I couldn't stay."

Lana's face of anger shifted to that of resigned aggravation. "Yes. I saw you, Jamous: your holo at the University. They have a whole monument in your honor on the campus with your name and everything. I walked past that monument for four years!" her voice had grown more agitated and tears welled up in her eyes. "Just when I thought I had gotten over you leaving me and mom, I have to walk by your 'grave' every day for four years?" She was very upset once again. "How could you do that, Jamous? You were like a brother to me!"

"Lana." Jamous slowly approached her. She was about ten centimeters shorter than his almost two meter height. "I did it to protect you." He gently put his arms around her. "I did it because I thought it was best for you."

Lana suddenly pushed him away. "No! You did it because you were scared. You were afraid to have someone to depend on." She raised her finger at him, her face flushed red. "Don't you dare try to say you did it for me. You did it because you were a coward!"

She stormed out of the tent, leaving Jamous alone. "Lana!" Jamous called for her, but there was only silence. That warm feeling in the Force was absent now, like his bond with Lana had been cut off or damaged. It made Jamous feel sick to his stomach. He had to make this right. He had to show Lana that he cared for her still, just as much as that time that they had been with each other constantly. He just had to.

—

When Jamous had collected himself and exited the tent, Lana was nowhere to be found. He knew it was better just to let her go. She needed time to herself, and he understood why. What she had said to him had really dug at Jamous. Him, a coward? Had he really left because he was too scared to have someone depend on him, to have someone to _depend_ on?

Jamous thought back to his life thus far, and the farther back he thought, the more he realized that what Lana had said, just might be true. Even including his time at the University, Jamous's only true friends had been Delroth and Lana. And even after he had left Lana and Cyri, what had he done? He'd committed himself to a fifteen year hermitage. But was it really that obvious? Was Jamous just afraid of . . . people?

"One who is truly in the Force has a deep connection to the inhabitants around him," Delroth had said. "Relationships with people, living things . . . it is an integral part of being in balance with the Force."

 _Gah, for once would you just shut up and get out of my head, old man?_

The sun had completely set, and Jamous had built a small fire in the fire pit that was in front of the tent. It had been two hours or so since Lana had disappeared, and Jamous was starting to get worried. Maybe he should go look for her. Finally, after he hid lit his first cigarette, Lana appeared from the shadows, the small fire illuminating her beautiful, conflicted face.

Jamous immediately stubbed out his cigarette. "Lana," he said quietly.

She didn't reply, but walked over and sat down next to him. Jamous didn't say anything. He just stared into the dancing flames of the fire and waited. She would talk when she was ready. It was only a few minutes later that Lana finally spoke.

"I . . ." she paused. "I was very devastated when you left, Jamous. Even more so because you didn't even say 'goodbye.' You were there that night, and in the morning you were gone."

Jamous started to reply, but she held up her hand and continued.

"It felt you like you abandoned us, like you abandoned me. You were the first person on this planet, in my entire life, to treat me right. You took care of me; you rescued my mom. You were like family to me . . . a big brother. It took me many years to come to terms with your departure. I felt betrayed for a long time. I guess I thought that I had come to terms with those feelings, but seeing you today, just brought all of them back. I had smashed them down inside of me, trying to forget."

A breeze blew through the towers of the Old City. It was cold, and it caused Lana to shiver. She inched closer to the fire. "And those four years, I wondered. Oh, how I wondered. How could I have met you fifteen years ago if you had died almost fifty years before that? You looked the same in your holo as you did the day I met you in that monastery. Was it the Force? You are a Je'daii." She corrected herself. "Well, you have the powers of the Je'daii. You're able to use the Force. Is it some power you learned? I had all these questions." She looked at Jamous with her big blue eyes. "And then I realized: whatever happened on the day that you 'died' here in the Old City is why you are the way you are, whatever _that_ is."

"Is that why you came here?" Jamous asked.

"Yes. The University hasn't sanctioned expeditions here since your accident." She paused, that old mischievous smile Jamous knew all too well slowly curling on her lips. "So I may have, uh, 'borrowed' some equipment and supplies while I work here."

Jamous laughed. "I didn't think they let anyone out here. But that's the Lana I know."

She chuckled and then scoffed at him. "Oh, shut up." Her face suddenly became drawn. "You don't know anything about me now."

Jamous moved closer and gently put his arm around Lana. She tucked her knees in under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs, looking more like the young girl he'd met on Kato Zakar rather than the grown woman she now was. "You're right. I don't know anything about you. I don't know what you've gone through these past years, who you've become." A brief pause, then he continued. "And that's my fault. I did leave. And in my head, I had told myself it was to protect you, but you're right: I left because I was scared. Scared to have a close friendship with someone, and scared to have someone depend on me. But I'm here now, Lana. The chances of us meeting like this were slim to none. But we've reunited. I don't know how or why, but there has to be a reason." He looked into her eyes, those mysterious, fiery blue eyes. "I am sorry for what I did, Lana. I truly mean that. I hope you can forgive me. If not today, then one day."

Lana looked at him seriously and didn't reply. It was then that Jamous truly felt the weight of his actions that night in Kyrean. Having Lana here now made him realize how much he yearned for the company of a friend, and not just any friend . . . _her_. Maybe he had lost her for good.

But Jamous's fear were alleviated when Lana's serious face turned to a joking smile. "Ah," she sighed, "it's good to hear you beg."

Jame pushed her lightly. "Oh, come on. I just poured my heart out to you. I haven't done that in almost one hundred years. Consider yourself lucky."

Lana laughed as she reached into her satchel, pulling out a bottle of brandy. "So are you ready for a drink?"

—

For the first time since their reunion, Jamous and Lana had fun. They both brought each other up to date on what they had done over the past fifteen years.

"I knew you'd be doing something as boring as being a hermit," Lana had said when Jamous told her of his hermitage.

But the best part was listening to Lana talk about the new life she had when she reunited with Cyri, her mother. Her face lit up as she animatedly told him stories of her teenage years. She was charismatic, beautiful, intelligent, thoughtful, and passionate. Jamous felt drawn to her like he hadn't before. She truly was the bright spot in all of his years on Tython. He was so happy just to be with her and to hear her talk. Old friends had truly been reunited.

From what she had told him, Lana and her mother had decided to stay in the city of Kyrean and plant roots there. After a few years of working at any job she could, Cyri had started her own used datapad store. Lana had helped her run the shop as a teenager. It was modest work, but they were happy and they got by. When Jamous had asked her how her mother was doing, Lana had grown solemn. Cyri had died five years ago. Her decades of abuse under Stripe had given her an early death. Lana said it had been hard, but it was the determining factor for her to move on from Kyrean. She had sold her mother's shop and enrolled at the Tython Archaeological University, just like Jamous.

"And what about you?" Lana asked after she had finished telling Jamous her story. "Don't take this the wrong way, but what exactly _are_ you?"

Jamous made the most ferocious face he could. "What?" he said in a mock rumbling voice. "Can't you tell I'm a wookie?"

Lana laughed. "Ha. Ha. Ha. You're so funny, Jamous. You should be running comedy shows in dive bars, not living the life of a stinky hermit. But really, how are you . . . still here? How are you still alive?"

Jamous looked out into nowhere. "I don't know how to explain it really, but I'll try." He then proceeded to tell her the events with Mortis and how he had been teleported off of Tython, possibly outside of the galaxy. Lana listened attentively the entire time.

"Wow," she sighed after he had finished his story. "That's . . . well, I don't know what it is, but it's crazy." She seemed deep in thought before she finally said, "This Mortis you speak of, from your description of him, he sounds like the image on some carvings I've come across here in the Old City."

Jamous was taken aback. "What? Where?"

"In the central spire of the city," Lana explained. "I've managed to get into the underlevels of the tower. On the very bottom floor, there is this large door. It looks ancient, not made of durasteel, almost like brass or something like that, maybe even bronze or a tarnished silver. There are embellishments carved all over it, but three images stand out. A young man, a young woman, and in between them an old man with a beard and pointed hat. Just like the Mortis that you described."

Jamous was speechless. The universe had brought him and Lana together at this moment for a very specific reason, and he thought he might have an idea what that reason was: the Great Connection.

He took a deep breath and looked at Lana. "Take me there."


	11. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

35,339 B.B.Y.

When Jamous had first seen the large ornate door in the deepest under-level of the Old City's central spire, he had been amazed. It was beautiful. Images were expertly carved all over its surface, and Mortis truly was the image carved in the center of the door. Jamous hadn't known who the two figures were on either side of Mortis, but when he had laid his fingers on the door, he had felt a rush of some foreign, almost "otherworldly" power filling him.

Jamous didn't know how to describe the spirit. It had felt like he had been carried away, through the stars. It had felt like he had crashed through the Force as if it was a glass surface and had fallen deep into another kind of power. This power pulled stronger than the Force. It felt ancient, raw, dark, and brooding. It had made Jamous want nothing to do with it but also want to be fully enveloped by it for all of eternity. There were no doubts, the amulet to help him contact the Great Connection was somewhere behind that door.

"Are you ok?" Lana had asked Jamous, snapping him out of his trance.

"I'm . . . feeling very good. We need to get through this door and see what's behind it."

That had been five days ago. Lana had also wanted to show Jamous her other findings, and the two had become sidetracked. Jamous had missed archaeology, and being able to discuss it and practice it once again with Lana had given him it's own kind of rush. That amulet wasn't going anywhere, and discussing archaeology with Lana felt just like old times, in many different ways.

But it had become apparent to both Lana and Jamous on the third day of their exploration that their relationship had changed. It wasn't the same as it had been fifteen years ago. They were attracted to each other, emotionally as well as physically. And on the fourth night, they had consummated their feelings for each other and made love on the cot in Lana's tent. Seeing Lana's naked body and feeling it against his own as they both cried out in pleasure and ecstasy had caused Jamous to feel something he had never felt before: strong feelings for another person.

He thought all of these things as he lay in the cot next to Lana. She was still asleep, and he could feel her gentle breathing on his chest. Jamous slowly and quietly got out of bed, letting Lana sleep a little longer as he put his clothes on and stepped outside of the tent. As wonderful as these last five days had been, he knew it was time to head through that cryptic door and find the amulet.

After he had prepared their supplies for the journey, he lit a cigarette and smoked it, observing the Old City. What possibly could have happened in this city those thousands of years ago? What caused its inhabitants to leave? Jamous pondered all of this as he smoked, until he felt Lana's arms wrap around his midsection from behind.

"Sleep well?" he asked as he threw his cigarette butt on the ground.

"You know, you really should quit smoking those," Lana replied warmly. "They're really bad for your health."

"So I've heard," Jamous replied as he turned around to face her. Her hair was a tangled mess from the night's sleep, but her eyes were vibrant. She truly was beautiful. Jamous leaned down and kissed her, his lips gently pressing against her. Her lips were soft, and they shot a spark of longing through Jamous's entire body. When their lips parted, he said, "Today is the day, Lana. We must head into the catacombs underneath the central spire."

Lana pulled back and observed him. "What is so important down there? You've skirted my question these past few days, Jamous, but I want to know. I deserve to know before we go down there."

Jamous gave Lana a ration bar, and they went back into the tent and sat on the cot. He then proceeded to tell her about the Great Connection, how it was possibly older and more powerful than the Force. He told her how he believed the amulet that would help him access this Great Connection was underneath the central spire in the catacombs.

"Are you sure about this?" Lana asked after Jamous had explained everything to her. "This power . . . it seems like it's not something to be trifled with. Are you sure you can handle it? What if something goes wrong?"

Jamous gave her a wry smile. "Nothing's been able to stop me yet, and I'm sure I will be fine."

"But what about me? I don't want to get my head blown off by some mystic Je'daii power."

Jamous laughed. "You'll be fine too." He took his hand in hers. "Trust me, I won't let anything happen to you."

Lana smiled, a smile that made Jamous's bones ache with want. "Okay, I'm trusting you. Let's do this."

—

The brass door loomed over them. It excited Jamous but also intimidated him. What powers and what mysteries could be held behind this door? When was the last time they were open? When was the last time someone had walked these halls? Probably a very long time, but these halls were about to see new people once again.

He looked to Lana. "You ready?"

She nodded. "But how are we going to open them? I've tried everything I can think of."

Jamous smiled at her. "The Force."

Lana sighed. "Of course."

Jamous put his hand on the brass handle of the door and let the Force flow freely out of it. As the door received the Force energy, it began to glow a light blue. Jamous laughed in triumph as he pushed and the door opened with a creak. Behind the door was a carved hallway that led down into darkness. The smell of must and dust wafted back at both of them as it opened. Jamous looked to Lana. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she replied with a somewhat hesitant tone in her voice. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I think so." Jamous chuckled. "And if not, I'll wing it. That's gotten me out of a countless number of situations before."

"That's comforting."

He took Lana's hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's go see what's down there."

As they walked down the descending hallway, the walls began to hum a faint, light blue light, illuminating their way. Lana touched the wall. "What could this be?" she asked?

"Sensory movement technology, maybe?" Jamous guessed.

She looked at the wall in thought. "Maybe."

"You okay?"

Lana looked from the wall to Jamous. "Yeah . . . I just have a bad feeling about this."

Jamous waved a hand dismissively. "We'll be fine, Lana."

"I'm not so sure." She pointed to some of the runes on the wall. They were just like the runes found all over the Old City. "These runes signify danger."

"Did the school finally crack the translation of these runes?" Jamous asked in astonishment.

Lana bit her lip. "Yes . . . and no. We can not translate the runes word-for-word, but we have learned that certain runes reflect a certain mood and feeling. All the runes on here signify a feeling of imminent danger."

"And what's the mood?" Jamous asked her.

She looked at him bleakly. "The only way I can translate it is that there is imminent danger and if you stumble across it, it's your own fault."

Jamous grabbed Lana's hand. "We'll be careful." He pulled on her hand, but she pulled back.

"I don't know," she said hesitantly. "We shouldn't take these runes' message lightly." She shuddered and hugged herself. "And I'm getting a really bad feeling from this place."

Jamous put his hands on Lana's shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Lana, when have I ever let you down? I got us out of the Monastery of the Fallen Arts, and I defeated Stripe and his gang and freed your mother. I'll make sure we're safe."

Lana let out a sigh of resignation. "Okay, but don't say that I didn't warn you."

He flashed her a cocky grin. "Trust me, we'll be fine. Now come on."

Their journey through the tunnel went on for what seemed to Jamous about fifteen minutes or so. They continued going down, deeper underground. He could sense Lana's anxiety through the Force. She hadn't said a word since they had continued their journey down. All she did was look at the runes on the wall, her face showing deep contemplation.

The long tunnel came to a close and opened up into a large octagonal-shaped room. Jamous let out a sigh of awe. There was a golden archway that marked the entrance of the large chamber. The entire floor of the chamber was a smooth, white marble. There were luxurious purple trappings hanging on the walls, and ornamental structures made of gold, silver, platinum. In the center of the chamber was a raised platform made of polished brass. In the center of the platform was a stand made of solid gold, jewels of many different cuts and colors crusted on the sides of it. And on that stand was an amulet. The chain and locket were the deepest and shiniest black of tungsten. A polished and sparkling ruby was set in the amulet's locket.

Jamous was about to enter the chamber when Lana suddenly grabbed his arm. "No, Jamous!"

"What?" he said somewhat annoyed. He knew she meant well, but her pestering was starting to irritate him, especially when his conduit to the Great Connection was so close.

Lana pointed to the golden arch above them. "These runes. They relay unmentionable terror, ghastly destruction."

Jamous scoffed. "Lana, you can't even actually read what they say. For all you know, they could mean something totally different."

"I know what they mean!" she yelled at him, her eyes ablaze with anger. But suddenly that anger was gone and replaced with a type of desperation. "I have a bad feeling about this, Jamous. Please, let's get out of here. You don't need the amulet. Let's leave, and go anywhere else. We can go wherever we want. We can do whatever we want. We have each other."

Upon hearing Lana's plea, all of the frustration and annoyance he held towards her dissipated instantly. "Oh, Lana." He held her in an embrace. "You stay right here while I grab the amulet. I appreciate your concern." He pulled her back and looked her in the eyes. "But really, everything will be okay. This will only take a minute."

Before she could reply, Jamous turned and walked through the archway and down the steps into the chamber. He had gotten halfway to the raised platform when there was a sound of rock and metal. In an instant, Jamous felt dark tremors in the Force. It made his stomach turn. The walls opened up on all eight sides of the room, and some sort of war droid came out of each opening. They were large, almost three meters tall and 2 meters wide. Arms and legs were attached to oval torsos with cone shaped heads. Each droid brandished large clawed hands and some sort of sword with ridges like a saw.

"Stay back!" Jamous yelled to Lana as he pulled Delroth's blade and Blackened Night from their scabbards.

Jamous braced for their attack, but before the droids charged, the ground began to rumble and shake. Dust and small crumbles of rocks fell from the ceiling.

"Jamous!" Lana's voice echoed across the chamber. The room is collapsing in on it—"

Jamous didn't hear the rest. All eight droids charged at him with a speed that he had never seen any robot have before. It was a tangled mess of mechanical arms and saw-bladed swords as Jamous dodged and weaved. He rained blows on the droids' chassi over and over as he evaded their attacks. Two droids collapsed to the marble floor in sparks.

The shaking had increased now and bigger chunks of the ceiling were beginning to fall. Jamous jumped back as a huge section of the ceiling fell, crushing three more of the droids. Jamous tried to keep his balance as the ground shook. He cut down one of the last droids but suddenly felt a piercing pain his right shoulder as the last droid's saw blade carved into his right shoulder, sinking about four inches deep.

Jamous fell forward to the polished floor. He rolled over on his back to see the final droid looming over him, it's sword raised high. Just as it was bringing the sword down on him, the droid's head suddenly exploded into a blaze of sparks. It fell to the floor, revealing Lana directly behind it, blaster in hand.

She ran over to Jamous. "We need to get out of here!" she yelled, barely heard over the sound of the cacophony of noise as the chamber caved in on itself.

"The amulet!" Jamous yelled back as he got up and began to head toward the daise.

"Jamous, no! We don't have time!" Lana grabbed at his arm and pulled on it, but Jamous pushed her back.

He ran up the steps of the platform and grabbed the amulet. As soon as he pulled it from the stand, the sound of a million voices screaming a death screech filled the air. It burrowed deep inside his head, making his ears ache. He couldn't tell if that scream was a physical sound or something he felt through the Force.

After hastily putting the amulet in his satchel, Jamous turned to escape the collapsing chamber. His eyes looked up in horror to see huge chunks of the ceiling crashing to the ground below it. Lana was half-running, half-stumbling toward the exit back into the tunnel, her hands pressed firmly against her ears, confirming that the loud screeching was an actual sound ringing throughout the chamber.

"Lana!" Jamous yelled as he ran towards her. The ceiling above Lana was volatile, and it fell all around her. "Look out!"

Lana had almost made it to the tunnel when a medium-sized piece of rubble fell from the ceiling, connecting with her head. Jamous couldn't hear the sound of it hitting her, but he watched as she fell to the floor, completely unconscious on impact. "No!"

Jamous dodged falling rubble as he made his way across the chamber. When he got to Lana, he picked her up in a fluid motion and cradled her in his arms. Her body was limp, and her head lolled against his chest. "Hold on, Lana!" Jamous shouted over the chaos.

As he ran up the stairs and back into the tunnel, the golden arch crumbled in on itself, sealing off the chamber, but it wasn't over. Even the tunnel was shaking, and Jamous looked up to see its roof cracking.

 _No!_

Jamous raced down the hall, augmenting his speed with the Force, the ceiling collapsing down behind him. He could feel Lana's shallow breathing. "I'm going to get you out of here!" He shouted as he ran through the tunnel, folding in on itself directly behind him.

There was an explosion and a shockwave of dust shot out of the tunnel as Jamous exited it, and it completely caved in. He had escaped the tunnel, but there was no time to be relieved. The central spire of the Old City was shaking itself, at its very foundation. Jamous ran up the multiple stairways that he and Lana had walked down only an hour before. A wave of hope washed over Jamous as he came up to the main floor and saw daylight shining through the open doors.

Lana still in his hands, Jamous ran through the doors and out of the tower. There was a catastrophic boom, and the tower fell in on itself, collapsing down towards the ground. Jamous ran as fast as he could, hoping to protect Lana and receive the brunt of the shockwave. He shielded them both in the Force. The breath escaped Jamous's lungs as the wave of force from the tower's collapse hit him. He wrapped his body around Lana as best he could as they both collided with the cobbled road of the city.

All was silent. There were thick clouds of dust, that covered the immediate surrounding area. Jamous picked up Lana, her body still limp and starting to feel cold. He rushed through the dust cloud and found open air on the edges of the city.

Jamous set Lana down gently on a patch of grass. There was a very large gouge in her forehead above her left eye, streaming blood down the left side of her face. Her hair and face and clothes were caked with dust. Jamous looked her over in a panic, trying to see if there was anything he could do.

"Lana!" He put his hand on her face and shoulders.

If there was something Jamous could do, he would have done it, but there was nothing he could do.

Lana was dead.


	12. Chapter 10

_Author's Note_

 _Well, after ten chapters, I feel like I have set a good foundation for Jamous's character! I thank you all for letting me explore this part of Star Wars Lore that was never expounded upon. I will now move onto a legitimate event in Star Wars lore: the Despot War. Now that I have set up who Jamous is, I can not wait to start putting him into major timeline events. Thank you all for reading and supporting my work. Chapter 11 coming soon!_

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

35,399 B.B.Y.

"No, no, no, no."

Jamous cradled Lana's head in his arms and hunched over her lifeless body. No, this couldn't be happening. She couldn't be dead. This wasn't what he wanted. How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?

 _It's your fault_

That thought was like a knife through Jamous's heart, and the self-realization that his actions were to blame for Lana's death was almost too much to bear. If he had only listened to her, if he hadn't been so selfish, if he hadn't gone for the amulet . . .

Jamous abruptly straightened his back. The amulet! The Great Connection. Fishing through his satchel, Jamous pulled out the black, ruby necklace. A shot of foreign power went straight up his arm. He looked at the amulet and then to Lana. She had died for this?

"This is my fault, Lana," he spoke to her corpse, "but I'm going to fix it."

Jamous grasped the ruby locket with one hand and placed his other hand on Lana's forehead. He delved deep into the Force. Like a deep ocean, his mind and body sank underneath the Force and was enveloped by it. He pushed deeper and deeper, his head starting to ache. The Force was like a dark blue mass that Jamous had been swallowed by.

 _Deeper._

That deep blue gave way to a solid white barrier: the Great Connection. Jamous greeted it with open arms, leaving the Force and becoming one with this ancient power. His mind was consumed with white electricity. It felt as if a foreign pathogen was suddenly invading Jamous's entire body all at once. He felt like crying and laughing. He felt powerful and weak. It was as if every emotional hormone possible was pumping through his brain.

A black aura began to glow from the amulet.

 _You are mine. I will bend you to my will._

The black aura emanating from the amulet moved across his body, down his other arm, and covered Lana.

 _Give her back to me! Let her live for an eternity if that's what it takes!_

A surge of pain and power rushed through Jamous's body. The white presence that surrounded him began to morph into a series of gray and black octagonal shapes, like a seizure. He screamed as the amulet in his hand began to burn a white fire. There was one more jolt of ecstatic pain, causing the amulet to shatter in Jamous's hand and jolt him onto his back.

He sat up quickly, his entire body in excruciating pain, and looked at Lana. Her entire body was a light with that black aura of the Great Connection. It lifted her a meter off the ground.

 _Work. Please work!_

Lana suddenly opened up her eyes and began to scream a constant shriek of dread unlike anything Jamous had heard before. The black aura turned to a color of the most nefarious red, and Lana's eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her entire body began to convulse and shake, foam came from her mouth. And just when Jamous thought he couldn't take anymore of it, it was over. The screaming and the shaking stopped; the red aura of power disappeared; and Lana was back on the ground with her eyes closed.

Jamous got to his feet and ran to her, leaving the fragments of the amulet on the ground. He bent down and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. "Lana!" he cried desperately, tears welling up in his eyes. "Lana, please! Wake up!"

And she did. Lana's eyes suddenly opened, and her back arched in pain as she gasped for breath. Jamous was overcome with joy. He'd done it! He'd brought Lana back from the dead.

But before he could embrace her shaking body, Lana began to hiss and screech. She suddenly began to attack Jamous with her nails, as if she was trying to claw his eyes out.

"Lana, stop!" he yelled, fending off her blows but not before taking a few deep scratches to the face. "It's me. It's Jamous."

Lana scratched and clawed at Jamous with an otherworldly ferociousness, almost like an animal. He grabbed her in a half-body lock, half-embrace and squeezed. "Please," he panted, "it's me."

The fight went out of Lana just as quickly as it had begun. "Jamous?" she said shakily. Before Jamous could reply, she pushed him away, rolled onto her stomach, and began to throw up. Soon there was nothing left for her to puke up, and she dry heaved for a minute or two before stopping. Wiping her mouth, she sat up. "What . . . what happened?" she asked in a daze, somewhat confused.

Jamous couldn't fight back his joy, and he embraced her fiercely. She didn't return the gesture, only sat there as he hugged her.

"Lana," Jamous started, "you . . . you died. I brought you back. With the amulet, I used the Great Connection, or maybe it used me-I don't know. It doesn't matter. You're alive now."

Lana looked down at herself, her expression still hard to read. "I . . . died?"

"Yes, but I brought you back."

She looked at him, almost through him. "But I should be dead?"

Jamous didn't understand her. "No, you should have never died to begin with. But I've fixed my mistake. We made it through, Lana. We can finally go wherever we want. We can be together."

If Jamous was hoping for a reply, he didn't get one. All he got was a stare. The kind of stare that, despite the recent resurrective miracle that had just taken place, looked dead.

—

Jamous looked back at the Old City as he and Lana entered the forest. Its ziggurats and towers looked ominously back at him, their faceless structures silently moaning about what seemed like pain. At least, to Jamous that's what it looked like. As he had picked through the wreckage of Lana's campsite in order to find what supplies he could, Jamous had made a commitment to himself that he would never enter the Old City again. Depending on how one looked at it, only bad things had happened to him here, and only bad things waited for him.

What really was on the forefront of his mind was Lana. She had not said a word to him since they had made their way back to the destroyed campsite. She only looked vacantly at her surroundings, and her skin had turned a pale, sickly pallor. She seemed to be unaware of everything around her, and no matter what Jamous said, she didn't respond, just looked at him blankly. What could the problem be? Against all odds, he had brought her back. Shouldn't things be going back to normal?

 _Give it time. In a few days, she should be back to her normal self._

But nothing seemed to change at all about Lana, as they trekked through the forest from early afternoon to early evening.

"We'll camp here for the night," Jamous said. No reply from Lana. He dug out a small pit for a campfire and laid out their sleeping rolls. Using his survival kit, he sparked embers onto the dry wood that he'd laid into his newly constructed pit. The wood caught fire, and soon a decent flame danced up from it.

Lana sat down next to the fire, not saying anything. Her eyes seemed to be entranced by the flames, watching them whip to and fro. Her eyes seemed to be glazed over as they were glued to the dancing flames. She said nothing, only seemed to watch with a morbid awe. It made Jamous very uncomfortable, and he sat down next to her, pulling out a cigarette from his satchel.

As he was lighting it, Lana raised her left arm, not removing her eyes from the flame.

"Careful," Jamous said, his lips enclosed around the end of his cigarette.

But Lana did not seem to listen to him. She suddenly shot her hand into the fire, unphased by the flames burning her skin and peeling it away.

"What the hell!" Jamous cried out in surprise, his cigarette falling from his lips and into the dirt. He grabbed Lana's arm and pulled her hand out. She didn't say a word, only had that death stare in her eyes. Her hand was blistered and peeling, some of the skin and the palm was black. "What are you doing?!" Jamous shouted.

He reached into his satchel and pulled out what first aid supplies he had: some bandages and a soothing, healing salve that Delroth had taught him how to make from plants in the forest. Jamous quickly and nimbly applied the salve to Lana's hand and then wrapped it up in the bandage he had.

"Seriously, Lana?" he said frustratedly. "What are you doing?"

Lana didn't even look at him, let alone reply. She stared into the sky, as if seeing something far away in a different galaxy. Once Jamous had wrapped her hand up, Lana slowly got up, stumbled to her sleeping roll, and closed her eyes. Jamous didn't know if she had fallen asleep, but he knew that sleep wouldn't be coming for him any time soon after what he had just witnessed.

Had Lana's psyche been damaged in some way by the Great Connection? Did all of her come back from the dead? What was going on? Her actions since he had brought her back to life had really troubled him. She was not Lana at all. She seemed more like a walking husk with no awareness of what was going on. And the way she had just stared endlessly into the trees as her hand was burning, it sent chills down Jamous's spine. Something was not right.

Jamous pondered all of this throughout the night, and it wasn't long before the sun peeked through the tree branches once again. No, sleep had not come for Jamous at all that night, and now it was time for them to continue on their journey. When Jamous woke Lana, she looked at him, her gaze revealing nothing.

"It's time to go," Jamous said to her. "Pack up your sleeping roll. We have to keep moving."

She did as he told her, with no reply of confirmation or hesitation.

They continued down the forested path for what seemed like an hour before Lana fell on her knees and began to throw up once again. Jamous turned and ran to her.

"Lana! Are you okay?"

That same red aura that had surrounded her back in the Old City suddenly began to materialize around her. "She is not yours," Lana said, but her voice was raspy and slithery. It sounded nothing like Lana's voice. The red aura disappeared once again, and she collapsed on her stomach.

"Lana!" Jamous shook her by her shoulder. She didn't move, but she was breathing raggedly.

Jamous picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. He needed help. The only people he knew that could help him were the Je'daii. Jamous knew that the Temple of Anil Kesh was here. It was a temple of science. They could possibly know what to do and how to help. He needed to get there as soon as possible. Lana's life depended on it. Augmenting his speed his the Force, Jamous took of down the path.

"Hold on, Lana."

—

It was late afternoon. Jamous had made great progress, but it was too slow. He had at least another day's journey before he reached Anil Kesh. Lana was still unconscious. Sometimes he felt like he couldn't feel her breathing at all. He could move faster if he didn't have to carry her with him. After hours of running and carrying Lana on his back, Jamous's legs and back ached. It was a constant, dull pain, weaving its way from the top of his spine all the way down to his thighs.

The forest that Jamous and Lana had been travelling through for almost two days opened up into a expansive plain, and as Jamous rounded the bend of a hill, he saw a small farmhouse, smoke lazily snaking up from its chimney. He sprinted for it, and as he came closer, he saw a twi'lek male working in front of the house.

"Help!" Jamous called to him. "Help!"

The farmer rushed to meet Jamous. He looked Lana over briefly and then said, "Quickly, bring her inside."

Jamous and the twi'lek farmer went into the modest hut. It was one giant room with four beds to the side and kitchen on the other, a table and chairs rested in the middle. When Jamous entered, he saw the twi'lek woman and two small twi'lek children.

"Tef'ath, bring cold water," the farmer said to his wife. "Lay her down here."

Jamous did as he was told and laid Lana on one of the beds. The woman came over with a pail of cold water. She dipped a cloth into it and put it on Lana's forehead.

"I need to get the Je'daii's help," Jamous told the farmer. "How far is the temple of Anil Kesh?"

The farmer took Jamous outside of the hut. "Follow the path through our fields. You have about half a day's journey till you get there."

Jamous looked back into the hut at Lana. "Can I leave her here in your care?"

The farmer smiled. "We'll look after her. But you must hurry. She is not well."

"Thank you . . ."

"Traflinn."

"Thank you, Traflinn. I promise I will be back as fast as I can with help."

"Go then. Hurry."

Jamous raced down the porch of the small hut and took off through the farm's fields. His body was so sore, but he pushed through the pain and called on the Force once again to boost his speed. If he kept this pace, he could reach Anil Kesh in half the time it normally would. He just hoped that the farmers could keep Lana stable long enough for the Je'daii to help. Jamous didn't like leaving her with strangers, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't carry her all the way to the temple. She needed to lie down, and he needed to get to Anil Kesh as fast as possible.

As Jamous ran, he mentally kicked himself. His overconfidence and arrogance had landed him and Lana into this mess. If he hadn't been so cocky, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Why did he listen to Mortis? He had known that Mortis was playing him, but he'd fell for it just the same. But he would fix all of this. He would get the Je'daii, and they would help Lana.

 _Faster!_

Jamous dug deep and ran as fast as he could. He called upon the Force with all of his might, and soon everything around him was just a blur as he raced through the fields. The fields transitioned to an emerald plain of tall grass, and Jamous sighed in relief. Flat ground meant easier travel. The east-risen sun moved over Jamous and was reaching its set in the west when the temple of Anil Kesh loomed over him. It had been several hours since he'd left Lana with the farmers, and every minute away from her compounded his anxiety and stress.

Jamous increased his speed, the sight of the temple giving him new hope and energy. The open gates greeted him, and he raced through them past the sentries. Jamous barged through the doors of the central structure of the temple. "Help!" he yelled frantically, almost as his wit's end. "Help! I need help!"

All the Je'daii in the central chamber looked to him quizzically. But it was an old, decrepit Je'daii woman who spoke, her voice that of much surprise. "Jamous?"

Jamous jerked around at his name. Before him was an old woman; she looked to be in her eighties or nineties. Her course, long white hair was pulled back, and there were faded white tattoos on her face. Jamous was suddenly transported back through memory to the destruction of Aurum, standing in the plains overlooking the destroyed city. "Lyn?" he replied, just as surprised

She walked over to him and touched his face, as if he was an apparition. "How . . . how are you . . ."  
Jamous grabbed her and held it in his own. "Lyn, I don't have time to explain anything. I need your help. I need the Je'daii's help."

"What's wrong?" she asked. She may have aged, but her eyes were just as alive and vibrant as the day Jamous had met her forty years ago.

"My friend is sick. She needs help, and only the help of the Je'daii will do anything for her."

—

Jamous sat across from Lyn as the Je'daii temple shuttle flew through the air. There were two other Je'daii in the cabin with them, including the pilot. Lyn stared at Jamous, her gaze never wavering.

"There is so much I want to ask you," she said in her hoarse voice.

Jamous didn't reply. He only stared at the durasteel floor of the shuttle. His mind was jumbled with a mish-mash of thoughts. Was it smart to trust those farmers? Was Lana okay? Was she even still alive? Could the Je'daii help? All of these questions and more were swirling through his head as they flew from Anil Kesh to the farmstead. And what happened after the Je'daii brought Lana to their temple? How long would she have to stay there? Would they let her leave after? Were they even going to let Jamous leave?

Lyn's old, wrinkly hand reach over and patted Jamous's leg, shaking him from his thoughts. He looked up and met her gaze; there was a twinkle in her eye. "Center yourself in the Force, Jamous. There is no need to be in such turmoil: the Force has a will and a reason for what has happened to your friend." Jamous didn't have the heart to tell her that something far more sinister and far more powerful than the Force was at work here.

The shuttle soon descended and landed in front of the farmhouse. Jamous opened the cabin door, and Lyn and the other two Je'daii go out behind him. All four of them approached the hut. As they got closer, Jamous felt a sickly pain in his stomach, as if some was hammering a nail inside him. He looked to the three Je'daii and could see from their faces that they were feeling the same way.

"Something is not right here," Lyn said. "The Force is twisted, dark . . . almost angry."

"I've never felt the Force in such a way, Master Mazloff," the Devaronian Je'daii next to Lyn replied. "It feels almost . . . alien."

She nodded. "Stay alert."

Jamous was the first to walk up the steps of the porch. All was quiet. Something wasn't right. There was no activity at all behind the door, which seemed odd considering there should have been five people inside, two of them children. He looked at Lyn and the other Je'daii, acknowledging their confirmation to open the door. Jamous slowly pushed the door open. As the door swung open, what light was left from the setting sun shone into the hut, revealing a ghastly and horrific sight.

Jamous took in a quick breath when he entered the structure and saw all of the carnage completely. The entire twi'lek family had been brutally slaughtered. Their blood painted the walls and floor of the hut, some of it even reaching the ceiling. Their bodies had been dismembered and scattered all across the room.

"What happened here?" Lyn asked in horror.

All four heads of the twi'leks, husband and wife, son and daughter, rested on the hearth of the fireplace, their faces twisted into grotesque masks of pain and fear. Jamous couldn't look at any of it anymore, and he turned away. There was nothing else to see in the hut. Who he was looking for was not here.

Jamous exited the hut, and Lyn followed him. The other two Je'daii stayed inside. She stood next to him and looked across the fields spreading off into the distance. "Jamous," she said, "do you know what happened here?"

Jamous looked at her. "No, I don't."

Though, he wish he did know what had happened, what had caused the violence and brutality. He wish he'd known that only bad things would happen if he came into possession of that amulet back in the Old City. There were a lot of things that Jamous wished he had known, but there was one thing that he did know for sure: Lana was gone.


	13. Segment of Rajivari's Speech

_"Our ancestors came to Tython over ten thousand years ago. They built the foundation of the Je'daii. Almost two thousands years after their arrival, our ancestors helped all non-Force users migrate off of Tython and colonize the rest of the system. It is in the Je'daii's nature to help the weak. We uphold that tradition even now, almost eleven thousand years later. If this Despot Queen wants a war, if she wants to prey on the citizens of the Tython system, then it is our duty as Je'daii to accept her call of war and protect those who have depended on us since the dawn of the age."_

Je'daii Master Rajavir, 25,795 B.B.Y.


	14. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 _25,795 B.B.Y._

Jamous pulled his hood down farther over his face and fell back into the large shadow of one of the towers behind him. The crowd of citizens walking the streets of one of the nine bubbled cities of the planet Nox were getting restless. He could feel their anxiety and anger through the Force. The crowd began to circle the three Je'daii who had been foolish enough to walk the streets of Halpa City uncovered.

It had only been a few months since the Despot War had started in earnest, but people from all planets had already chosen sides. The manufacturing world of Nox was split. Some cities favored the Je'daii, while other cities favored the Despot Queen and her army. Halpa City happened to be loyal to the Despot Queen, and these Je'daii were about to see just how loyal the city's denizens truly were.

"Je'daii scum!" someone yelled from the crowd that had now trapped the Je'daii in a wide circle of bodies.

People began to throw rocks at the three Je'daii-a human male and female and a Twi'lek male-but they avoided them and reflected them with the Force. Things were escalating, and Jamous knew that if he didn't step in, it wouldn't be long before the crowd ripped the three Force users to shreds with their bare hands.

The crowd was electrified. Jamous could feel their anger and hate rippling off in hot waves. If he could just get them to redirect that anger at each other and not the Je'daii, he could help the three escape in the chaos of the heated crowd.

Jamous began to fake a drunken stupor and tumbled into a rodian at the edge of the crowd.

"Hey, watch it!" the rodian exclaimed in frustration.

"I'm 'shorry," Jamous slurred, "I 'jusht 'needsh to 'ushe the 'bathroomsh."

The rodian pushed Jamous back. "Well go somewhere else, you drunkard. You're getting the way."

Jamous sighed. This wasn't going to work, and it was already taking too long. He had to be quick and direct. He grabbed the alien by the shoulder and turned him back around, cocked back his fist, and connected it with the rodian's green face. The rodian let out a cry and fell back into the crowd, causing two other citizens to tumble to the ground. Before the rodian could get back to his feet, Jamous had melted deeper into the shouting crowd.

It only took a few punches to a few people and some redirecting of the blame before Jamous had the crowd mutated into a riot . . . against each other. Screams of pain and grunts of exertion emanated from the crowd. Jamous began to make his way to the middle of the it, dodging punches and kicks, towards the Je'daii. The three were fighting off the few rioters who had been stupid enough to try to attack them by themselves. The Je'daii woman had her back to Jamous, and he reached his hand out to place it on her back when she suddenly jerked around and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip, her face masked with threat.

Jamous put his other hand up in a sign of peace. "Get your friends, and come with me."

"Who are you?" she asked brusquely.

"A friend."

—

Jamous opened the door to his hideout. It was a rundown apartment deep in the basement hallways of the tallest tower in Halpa City. The light was dim, and it flickered, casting a gloomy haze over the small two room space. There was little for furniture, a crusty old couch and scuffed table in one room, and a bed mat in the other. There were no amenities such as a refresher or a kitchen.

He walked into the living space, and the three Je'daii trailed after him. The rickety door shut behind them with a scratchy squeal.

They had been in the room for less than a minute before the three Je'daii began to interrogate him.

"Who are you?" the woman asked suspiciously. She had long, flowing brown hair tied back in a knot. Her light skinned face was firm. Deep brown eyes were set below thin eyebrows. "What are you doing here?"

Jamous lifted back his hood. "What are you doing here?" he flipped the question around. "How could you all be so stupid as to openly walk around Halpa? The Je'daii are not welcomed in this city."

"We came to recruit more manufacturers," the thick, heavyset twi'lek said in a deep voice. His jaw was chiseled, and his skin was a deep blue. "We need all the ships we can get now that open combat has erupted on all fronts with the Despot Queen."

Jamous sighed and pulled a cigarette from his satchel. He lit it and inhaled. The smoke escaped his mouth as he said, "Well, you will find no help here." All was quiet. "I'm Jamous."

Tension seemed to lessen after he introduced himself. The Je'daii woman introduced herself and the two Je'daii. Her name was Glena; the human male was Tork; and the twi'lek went by Dol'tren.

"These swords," Tork said, examining Delroth's sword and Blackened Night mounted to one of the walls of the apartment. "These are Je'daii swords. Ancient ones at that."

Jamous ashed his cigarette. "You have a good eye."

Tork was a mountain of muscle. Scars covered his face, and he had blonde dreadlocks pulled back. "I was a smith at Vur Tepe before the war started." He turned back to the swords. "How old are they?"

"Almost ten thousand years old."

Ten thousand years. Ten thousand years, Jamous thought again. He had lived a hundred lifetimes. Those years as a child, even some of his time with Delroth, seemed like nothing but a faint dream. He had wandered Tython for a hundred more years before taking flight with the non-Force users of Tython as they began to colonize the other nine planets of the Tython system. Jamous had been to every planet; he had gone as far as he could on the edges of the system. Without the ability to travel faster than light, he had gone everywhere he could. So much time had passed, so many events had happened, that Jamous's past life felt like it never happened. Only one event still stood as it once had, still hurt as much as the day it had happened: Lana's disappearance.

Jamous had spent forty years on an unshakeable quest to find Lana. No one could just disappear out of thin air. But yet, Lana had. She had magically vanished. Jamous had searched high and low, but his efforts were in vain. Lana was gone. And she had to be dead by now. She was a forgotten memory, but she was alive and well in Jamous's mind: his ultimate failure, the product of his arrogance and overconfidence. Lana had visited him in nightmares over the last ten thousand years, a lot at first, but less and less as time had passed. But the pain was still there. The failure was still heavy.

"How did you come across these swords?" Dol'tren asked Jamous, shaking Jamous from his thoughts. "Were you once a Je'daii?"

"No," Jamous replied. "I was never a Je'daii, but I trained under one a long time ago."

"Who?" Glena asked.

"You wouldn't know him," Jamous said with a sad smile. "No one would."

The tension seemed to have disappeared altogether. Glena and Dol'tren sat on the old couch while Jamous and Tork sat cross legged on the floor across from them.

"Do you have a ship?" Jamous asked. "Any way to get off the planet?"

"Yes," Glena said. She seemed to be the leader of the trio. "We have a starship hidden outside of the environment bubble." Thousands of years of manufacturing had turned Nox's verdant earth into a gaseous and poisonous environment. Stepping outside of the cities' environment bubbles was certain death if one did not have an environment suit.

"Then you need to go. Leave the planet. At least to another city. Halpa is not safe for Je'daii.

"And what about you?" Glena accosted. "You yourself are a Je'daii. What is a rogue Je'daii doing on Nox during war time?"

"If you have skill with these blades, we could use you," Tork said, trying to improve the situation. "Tython needs all the help it can get."

"I am no Je'daii," Jamous stated again.

"But we can feel the Force in you," countered Tork. "It is strong. We can not let Queen Hadiya take over the Tython system."

War. The first system-wide war in the Tython system's history. It was being called the Despot War. Hadiya, a gangster lord on the planet of Shikaakwa, had united all the crime barons on the planet. She had crowned herself Kral and launched an offensive to take control of the entire Tython system. The only force to stand up against her was the Je'daii. Now months into the war, many had died, on both sides and those on no side. It was a bloody conflict, and the innocents of the Tython system were being cut down in droves.

"No, I can not join you, nor do I want to," Jamous said cooly. "There is much work that needs to be done here. On Nox."

"What could be more important than defending the system from these gangsters?" interjected Glena.

Jamous lit another cigarette. "You don't seem to understand the ramifications of this war. While you Je'daii fight off the Despot Queen, the defenseless and innocent citizens of the system get used and abused by those in power. That is why I am here."

"The Despot Army is here?" Tork asked gravely.

"Agents of the Despot, yes. But no, no army here. Only the couriers and brokers who negotiate deals with Hyperion Kinetics."

"Hyperion Kinetics?" Glena leaned forward on the couch, the hostility in her seeming to lower. "They make the repulsorlifts that the Despot Army uses to transport troops during ground combat, yes?"

Jamous nodded. "Yes. They are the reason why I'm here."

"What do you mean?" asked Dol'tren. "Hyperion Kinetic is a billion credit company. They span seven planets in the system. There's no way you could possibly cut off their supply to the Despot Army."

Jamous took a drag from his cigarette. "I'm not trying to cut off their supply to the Despot Army."

"Then what are you trying to do?" asked Glena, intent on finding out Jamous's agenda.

"I arrived in Halpa City two months ago, a little after the war started and right after Hyperion Kinetic signed a contract with Hadiya and her army. I came to provide relief to the homeless in the slums in any way that I could. After a few weeks, I began to notice a common trend concerning those families in need: their children went missing." Jamous felt righteous indignation rise up into his throat, and he clenched his fist, crumbling the still lit cigarette. "Hundreds of homeless families all throughout the city were missing their children, and none of them had any possible idea as to where their kids could have gone."

"What does Hyperion Kinetics have to do with any of this?" Tork asked.

"I started investigating," continued Jamous, "and after a month-long cold trail, I was notified to look into Hyperion Kinetics."

"By who?"

"I don't know." And that was the truth. Jamous had come back to his hideout after a frustrating night of fruitless searching and found flimsiplast that had "Hyperion Kinetics" scribbled on it slid under his door. "I've spent the last month investigating Hyperion Kinetics, and I know they're taking refugee children off the streets of Halpa."

"Why would such a huge system-wide company want anything to do with these kids?" Dol'tren asked.

"A sudden rush of orders from the Despot Army that needs to be finished quickly requires a lot of manpower and almost non-stop work," Glena mused aloud. "They're using these kids for slave labor?" she asked aghast.

Jamous nodded solemnly. "On the outskirts of the city, Hyperion Kinetics's main warehouse is packed full of kids working around-the-clock. They're treated terribly: no sleep, hardly any food, beat and abused."

"And no one in the city has a clue that this is going on?" Tork asked incredulously. "They haven't caught wind of it or even seen something involving it?"

"Sadly, no. Everyone is caught up in the war. The denizens of Halpa City are too blinded by their hatred for the Je'daii. No one knows what's going on. But if they knew, the tides in Halpa could turn. The city would kick Hyperion Kinetics out."

Tork put his hand on Jamous's shoulders. "Jamous, if we can help, we will."

"Tork!" Glena glared at the burly Je'daii. "That is not why we are here!"

Tork stood up. "There are people-children-that need our help, Glena! How can we as Je'daii stand idly by while innocents suffer around us!'

"I agree with Tork," Dol'tren added. "We are protectors first, warriors second. I can not leave Halpa City knowing that there are children snatched from their parents and forced to work as slaves for the war machine."

Glena's face flushed red. "I was put in charge of this mission."

"The mission has changed, Glena!" Tork said forcefully. "We can continue it after we have helped Jamous."

Glena's teeth clenched. She glared at Tork, then to Dol'tren, and then to Jamous, her stare somehow burning even hotter towards him. Without a word, she stormed out of the apartment, the door shutting briskly behind her.

"Don't worry about her," Tork said to Jamous. "The war has been hard on her. She will come around."

—

Jamous lay on his bed mat and stared at the stained ceiling of his apartment. The Force worked in its own way. He had pondered what his next move would be against Hyperion Kinetics, and now suddenly there were three able Je'daii willing to help him. Well, two were willing to help; the other was kind of forced to.

It had been well over a thousand years since Jamous had last talked with a Je'daii. He had done his best to avoid them in any way that he could. But he couldn't have just stood by and let Glena, Tork, and Dol'trent get attacked by that crowd today. Part of him had wanted to, but the Force had guided him into rescuing them. And in turn, they would help him rescue the child workers of Hyperion Kinetics.

Thinking of the child slaves brought the memory of Lana to his mind's eye. She was just fourteen, and they were both sitting on a bench in the city of Kyrean. She smiled at him as Tython's sunset lit her ashen hair ablaze. Jamous rolled over restlessly. No, no, no. He did not want to think of her right now.

And he didn't. But she showed up in his dreams that night, a pale spectre of her former self, crying out to him, asking why he had put her through the things that he had. She haunted and tormented him all throughout the night. Sleep was not a safe place for Jamous that night.

When would the pain end?

Jamous cried out in his sleep, but there was no answer, only the evil whisperings of the Great Connection.


	15. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

25,795 B.B.Y.

Jamous kicked the thin, scratchy blanket off of his legs and sighed in frustration. He had been tossing and turning all night, sleep eluding him. He sat up cross-legged on his bed mat, annoyed. He didn't like what being in close proximity with Je'daii was doing to him. Jamous didn't know if it was them, or if it was just a rough night. But it felt like the uneasiness was due to the fact that he was mixing up with the Je'daii, something he had managed not to do for nearly ten thousand years.

Jamous liked to tell himself that it was due to the fact that if they discovered what he was, they would imprison him, or at least force him to go back to Tython so that they could study what he was. But that wasn't the case. The Je'daii, although he was loathe to admit it, were not the type to imprison an innocent person against his will, that is if you called Jamous a real "person" or "innocent."

Submitting to the fact that he was not going to get any sleep tonight, Jamous stood up and pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pack. He left his room and silently crept through the living space toward the exit. The three Je'daii seemed to be asleep, and he did not want to wake them, mainly because he didn't feel like having another conversation at the moment. Not right now. Not when he felt so weak from the night's harassment of dreams of Lana.

The door opened with a creek, and Jamous flinched at the noise it made. He left the dingy apartment, and made his way for the turbolift. When he entered, he pressed "ROOF ACCESS" on the terminal. As the lift's door shut, it began it's ascent up the sixty or so stories to the top of the tower. Jamous took the time to ponder the situation that he now found himself in.

Was it his arrogance that kept him from wanting to trust the Je'daii? Or at least from accepting their help? After Glena had left, Tork and Dol'tren had pressed him to let them help him. He didn't want to admit it, but he had admired how they were willing to put their "important" war mission on hold, in order to help the battered citizens of Halpa City. Though even though there was that admiration, Jamous was still hesitant to accept their help. Was it his pride? Jamous had tried to eliminate all the pride he had after what had happened to Lana. But wasn't their pride in thinking that one had eliminated all pride?

Jamous let out a frustrated grunt. _Enough with all of this!_

As if by command, the turbo lift came to a stop and opened up to the roof of the tower. There were bits of trash scattered around, but it was empty of any other beings. Jamous walked across the roof to edge of it. There was a lip that came up about a meter and a half, a poor excuse for a barrier to keep people from falling. He lit a cigarette that he had pulled from his pack.

Halp City lay out before him. Jamous could see all the way to the edge of the city, where the curve of the glass dome that covered it reached the ground. The city was still pretty lit for it being this late in the evening, or early in the morning. Even in the evening, he could see how trashed and filthy the city was. But it was still beautiful, in its own way.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Jamous cursed inwardly as he heard the voice. He let out a drag of his cigarette and turned to see Glena standing behind him. Her hair was no longer pulled back, and it fell gracefully past her shoulders in waves. "Not really," he replied.

Glena walked up to the lip of the roof next to Jamous. She gazed down into the streets below. "So many people," she said, as if in a trance, "how can the Je'daii protect them all?"

Jamous held back a snort, his earlier ruminations of his pride sticking out in his mind. He was going to try at being more open-minded when it came to these three Je'daii who he was now keeping company with. "It's impossible to," he said. "War ravages the system; people are starving; children are taken from their parents; people are murdered in cold blood . . ."

Glena looked into Jamous's eyes, her hazel eyes sparkling under the artificial light of Halpa City's biosphere. It was in this moment that Jamous could see past the fact that she was a Je'daii. He saw a young woman who was confused and in pain. A woman who was conflicted on the inside about all that was going on around her, about her duties as a Je'daii.

"But . . ." she said, "it's our duty as Je'daii to protect the people of the Tython system. If we can not do that then . . . what is the point of all this?"

Jamous was silent. This sudden burst of personal feelings had surprised him, especially after the cold introduction he'd had from Glena a few hours before. It seemed that Glena could sense his discomfort.

"I wanted to apologize," she said, moving the conversation on, "for how I acted earlier. I hold nothing against you personally." She faltered. Whatever she had wanted to say next, she could not seem to form the words, so instead she just looked back out across the cityscape.

Jamous stubbed out his cigarette. "I know what it feels like to feel helpless," he said, not really knowing where he was going with what he was trying to say. "I know what it feels like to have doubt, doubt that you are really making a difference." Glena looked from the cityscape back to him, and he could see the tumult inside of her through her eyes. "But you have to push those doubts aside. You have to focus on the present. We can make a difference, in one life at a time."

There was silence for a moment. Lana stepped closer to Jamous, and he had to resist the urge to step back. They looked eye to eye. "Who are you, Jamous?" she asked.

Jamous swallowed. Who was he? In the ten thousand years that had passed, after all that he had seen, after all that he had done, who was he? What was the difference between the Jamous he was then and the Jamous that he was now? What major difference had he made? He had this gift, and had he used it wisely? Had he used it to the best of his ability? "I . . ." he stammered.

Glena didn't break eye contact with him, and she seemed to have no regard for his or her own personal spaces. "Who are you?" she asked again.

Not being able to hold her gaze anymore, Jamous broke away from her and turned away. He didn't reply to her. He just pulled out another cigarette and lit it.

"I know you put up this front," Glena said behind him, "of being in control, of being unphased. But I sense great pain in you. It's subtle, but it flows from you in small ripples."

Jamous felt a spite of anger. Who was this Je'daii that she could just say whatever she wanted? Who was she to talk like she knew what was going on inside of him? Like she had known everything he had gone through?

Jamous turned around suddenly, surprising Glena. She took a step back. "You Je'daii are all the same!" he shouted in the quiet night. "You think you are so wise. Not everyone needs to be helped or saved!" He waved his arms in the air to emphasize his points. "You don't know me!" he cried out. "You don't know the things that I have seen, the things that I have been through, nor the things that I have seen!"

Glena looked as if he had slapped her. "Jamous, I'm sorry, I just wanted to-"

"You just wanted to what?" he interrupted her. "You wanted to help?"

"I-"

"Did I ask for help? Do I look like your next little Je'daii project?"

Glena's face turned sour as her frustration boiled over her surprise. "You asshole!"

She stormed off back into the turbo lift. Even as the doors shut, he could see her scowl from across the roof. Jamous let out a sigh. He had gone into the conversation trying to be "open-minded," and yet he had still let his anger get the best of him. Deep down inside he had know that Glena had really only been trying to help. But then why had he snapped at her like that? Why had he exploded in anger?

Why couldn't Jamous keep his emotions under control?


	16. Chapter 13

**Chapter 12**

25,795 B.B.Y.

If there was a major downside to never aging (and there were a few), it was that there was so much time, specifically: time to think. Jamous had had a lot of time for that over the years, and it hadn't done much good for him. Time to think about his parents . . . he should have gone back to visit them, their differences be damned. Time to think about the Force . . . he still had much to learn, even if he hated to admit it. Time to think about the Great Connection . . . he hated thinking about that. Because whenever he thought about the Great Connection, he thought about Lana. And he couldn't help that his brain was kicking a metaphorical dead graussen.

But what had happened all those years ago, had happened because of the Great Connection, _in_ and _through_ the Great Connection. Jamous believed this guilt and drama, this inability to move on from Lana, was not like the hormonal rages of an unstable person. It was _more_ than that. The Great Connection had burned it into him, infused it into his mind and body. It was unshakeable. The whisperings in the night, the feelings of being watched, the nightmares in his sleep: it all had something to do with the Great Connection. Something dark and sinister.

Jamous shook his head and grunted. The nauseous fumes of Nox heated the bubbled enclosure of Halpa City, causing condensation to drip off the glassed ceiling like rain. Jamous stood under the sackcloth awning of a rundown merchant vendor. He held a lit cigarette between his lips as he brooded. Across the teeming crowd of the marketplace, the three Je'daii talked to a merchant. Jamous watched them from underneath his cover from the rain.

He had managed to get them to exchange their customary Je'daii robes for the rags most common on the grifters of Halpa City. There had been no incidents like yesterday since then.

"So not only does Glena seem to be in a sour mood this morning, but so do you," Dol'tren said, suddenly beside Jamous. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't seen the large Twi'lek move through the crowd toward him. "And I'm beginning to think it's for the same reason."

Jamous dropped the cigarette out of his mouth. "You can think whatever you like," he replied, stamping the cigarette out with his boot. He looked up at the glass ceiling of the city. Behind the glaze of moisture, he could barely make out the green, toxic fumes of Nox's atmosphere twirling about in a sick dance. "What did you guys find out?"

If Dol'tren had noticed Jamous's evasion of the question, he didn't give any implication of it. "Two nights ago, the merchant's oldest son disappeared. Not a trace of the child. The merchant took it to the authorities, but they didn't give him the time of day, let alone search for the missing boy."

A sigh escaped Jamous's lips. "First the children of the refugees, and now the children of the city's middle class. This does not bode well."

"Aye," agreed Dol'tren, he watched as Glena and Tork skated through the crowd toward their direction. "And Hyperion most likely has Halpa's authorities in its pocket."

"I don't think we'll learn much else from him," Glena said flatly as she and Tork reached Dol'tren and Jamous. She gave Jamous a stony look, her lips flat. "In fact, I don't think we're going to learn much else from anyone."

It was true. They had spent all morning questioning the denizens of Halpa City about the missing children. The biosphere city's artificial lighting was beginning the transition to midday, and so far, their investigation in the slums and now the merchant quarter, had been fruitless. If anybody knew anything about Hyperion's actions, they weren't willing to share.

"What now?" Tork asked, stepping forward more underneath the awning to get out of the crowd's flow.

"We'll have to do some surveillance on Hyperion's plant," Dol'tren advised. "We're going to have to see if we can find a way in when the time comes."

"I have gone to the plant," said Jamous. "It's locked down pretty tight. Security posted on all entrances with guard towers."

"Hmm," mused Tork. "That security seems overkill for a manufacturing plant."

"I know. And I never saw any children going in or out, just the warehouse workers coming in and out for the day."

The three Je'daii and Jamous melted back in the crowd, following its flow out of the merchant quarter. All the four of them had their hoods up, not only to shadow their faces but also to shelter from the rain. The Hyperion Kinetics manufacturing plant was on the outskirts on the north side of the city. They would cut through the main square of the city's skyscrapers and travel through Old Town, a gangster-ridden slum.

Jamous felt something in the Force, something uneasy. It felt like the churning water of Tython's oceans before a storm. He looked back at the three Je'daii, and from their contemplative faces, he could tell that they too were feeling the same thing . . . Something was about to happen, and the feeling only grew stronger as they got closer to the main square. Jamous tightened the leather strap around his chest another notch, making Delroth's sword snug against his back.

As the junk-filled street opened up into the main square of the city, Jamous saw a rippling crowd gathered in the center of the square. There was a buzz about the crowd: the beings were anxious and restless. Within the middle of the crowd stood a human male on a small platform. He had a hooked nose and pockmarks on his face. As Jamous and the Je'daii got closer, it was revealed that the pockmarked man was not on the platform alone. Three beings kneeled in front of him, bound at the wrists and ankles: a devaronian male, a human female, and a Twi'lek male.

"For too long we've been under the oppression of the Je'daii!" the pockmarked man shouted to the crowd, his voice both gravelly and slimey at the same time. "For too long have they dictated the directions of our lives!"

"What is he saying?" Glena hissed quietly to Jamous, Tork, and Dol'tren. "This is utter nonsense!"

Dol'tren held up his index finger to his lips in reply.

"Queen Hadiya of the Shikaakwan clans has come to liberate us from these foul Je'daii!" the man continued. He paced back and forth on the stage, waving his arms in the air. The gathered crowd began to feed off his malintent. They began to stir more and more, talking amongst themselves.

"This is bad," Tork muttered.

"Before you," the man spread his arms out and motioned at the three bound beings who shared the platform with him, "are Je'daii who came to our city! They incited a riot here in the main square yesterday! Will we allow them to freely walk our city's streets?"

"No!" the crowd shouted back to him in unison.

"What is he doing?" Glena still whispered, but there was urgency in her voice. "Those people are innocent!"

The devaronian male, bound on the platform, attempted to awkwardly turn to face the pockmarked man. "Please, sir! You are making a mistake! We are not Je'daii!" There was a tremor in his voice as he shouted over the dinge of the crowd. "We are citizens of Halpa City! Just like you!" He had the demeanor of a caged animal, his body shaking. "If you would just—"

The poor alien never got to finish defending himself. The pockmarked man pointed his blaster pistol to the devaronian prisoner's head and pulled the trigger. The sound of the blaster going off rang out through the square, bouncing off the facades of the faceless skyscrapers, echoing loudly. The prisoner's face exploded into a red, hazy mist as the blaster bolt spiked through his head, spreading charred brain matter and chunks of skull on those in the crowd that were closest to the platform. The crowd roared in approval.

"This insanity!" Glena cried during the crescendo of the crowd's cheers. "We have to do something!"

"Don't do anything rash," Jamous warned her, "or else we'll be on that stage next."

Glena gave him a fierce look, but she said no more, staying rooted with the rest of them in the southeastern corner of the square.

"Ten thousand years!" the pockmarked man shouted as the crowd quieted. "Ten thousand years have we inhabited the Tython system, when our ancestors were brought here from all over the galaxy! And for ten thousand years have we non-Force users lived under the thumb of the Je'daii! And Queen Hadiya will liberate us from their tyranny!" He pointed the blaster pistol at the human female who began to wriggle and writhe on the platform in a feeble attempt at escape. "Fuck the Tho Yor!" The man's face was red, and the veins on his neck bulged: pure hate flowed out of him.

He pulled the trigger on his blaster pistol, shooting a bolt of energy through the woman's back and out her chest. She made a gurgling noise as the light faded from her eyes, and the last living prisoner on the platform, the twi'lek, began to weep. The crowd roared in approval.

"The Tho Yor, the progenitor of our system," the pockmarked man said in satirical reverence, "the temple ships that brought our ancestors here . . . they will fall!" He raised his fist in the air. "The Despot Queen, our savior Hadiya, will ransack Tython and destroy the Je'daii's Tho Yor temples!"

The crowd raised their hands in the air and screamed in agreement.

Dol'tren, Tork, and Glena all put their hands on their heads. Glena began to stumble, and Jamous reached out to catch her. She pushed his hands away as she found her footing. "Are you ok?" he asked her.

"The hate coming off the crowd, it's so great. I can feel it so strongly in the Force." She regained her composure, but there was still discomfort on her face, as well as the other two Je'daii.

The three of them had not been off Tython very much. It was obvious. These hateful acts reverberating through the Force were something they had not experienced very often.

"Take deep breaths," Jamous advised them. "Find the calm center within you." They looked at him gratefully.

There was another blaster shot, and all four of them jerked their heads to the crowd as it cheered. The Twi'lek lay dead at the pockmarked man's feet. "Death to the Je'daii!" he screamed, lifting both his arms in the air with clenched fists.

The crowd roared with him. Some jumped up and down. A chant broke out among them. It felt like a ringing in Jamous's ears, the word "death" a thud on his eardrums. He motioned with his hand for the three Je'daii to follow him. As a group, they stayed on the edge of the square and ducked into a small alleway at the northwestern corner.

"This is bad," muttered Tork, when they were at the end of the alley. It opened up into a larger street that cut north and south. "I didn't realize how much dissent there was toward the Je'daii, not in Halpa City and not in the whole system.

"Who was that man?" Glena questioned. She glared at Jamous. "Who was he?"

Jamous replied, "I have no idea. I've never seen him before." He pulled a cigarette out and lit it. His hands shook slightly, and he steadied them. "I knew that the citizens of Halpa were not fond of the Je'daii, but a public execution? I've not seen anything like that here since the war started."

"We need to question him," Glena said emphatically. "He needs to be brought to justice for murdering those innocent people."

"The children," Dol'tren reminded her. "We can't forget about the missing children."

Jamous stubbed out his cigarette. "Most of the citizens seem more concerned with the war than what is going on in their city. That probably explains why so many children have gone missing, and no one has said anything about it." He looked from one end of the alley to the other. "But the situation has become more dire. We need to be careful. This city has become a lot more dangerous for you three."

"And you," Glena snorted in reply.

"I'm no Je'daii."

"Jamous." Dol'tren had a sympathetic smile on his face. "You being a Je'daii or not won't matter to these people. If you use the Force, in their minds, you're a Je'daii."

"Either way," Jamous replied. "Let's keep a low profile."

Their journey north through the city was a quiet one. Neither of them spoke, and every face of those walking past them looked like the face of an enemy. The situation had gone sour. If they were discovered, their fate would be the same as those poor souls in the main square. Jamous should have foreseen this, and he mentally kicked himself for not doing so. He had known for months that Halpa City had chosen the side of the Despot Queen and not the Je'daii, but he had made the mistake of thinking the city's citizens would be more passive during the war. It was one thing to manufacture for the army opposing the Je'daii; it was something entirely different to hunt "Je'daii" down in the city and murder them in the streets.

The aesthetic of the buildings shifted as they entered the manufacturing district. The buildings transitioned to a drab gray with no windows. Scratched durasteel walls sectioned off the yards to different manufacturing plants. At the top of most yards' walls was an electric mesh to keep curious onlookers from climbing over.

The Hyperion Kinetics yard was easy to spot if one knew what to look for. It was at the back of the manufacturing district, and it was the biggest yard out of them all. It also had four guard towers in each corner of the rectangular yard. In the guard towers were two security guards each, a collection of humans, rodians, and a twi'lek or two. They all brandished long range blaster rifles, and there were flood lights mounted on the railings of the towers. The gate to enter the yard had a checkpoint booth with a security guard inside, and two more security guards standing on either side of the gate.

As the four of them came up to the Hyperion Kinetics yard, they cut right to walk parallel with the gate. There was a ragged, burlap awning that offered inconspicuous cover diagonally from the gate. They stopped under it.

"That's a lot of security," Tork muttered. Jamous gave them all cigarettes (to look like they were warehouse workers taking a smoke break), and the burly human took it and put it to his lips. "It almost seems like _too_ much security."

"I agree," Jamous said after lighting his cigarette, passing the lighter on.

"Those guard towers look like they could be a problem," Glena said as she awkwardly inhaled in her cigarette. She unsuccessfully tried to suppress a cough, and the other three smirked at her, getting glares from her in return.

There was the sound of an engine, and a large cargo speeder came up the street and stopped at the gate.

"I wonder what's in there," Dol'tren said as the driver of the cargo speeder showed credentials to the security guard in the checkpoint booth.

"I could take a guess," Jamous replied, smoke escaping his mouth.

The gate opened, and the cargo speeder went through. The defense of the yard was very strong. They would not be able to get in during the day, even if they were able to jump over the five meter wall—they'd get spotted by the guards. Night would be the better option, and even then, the flood lights mounted on the guard towers would still pose a major problem. There were eleven guards securing the perimeter of the yard, and who knew how many were inside the walls. If they were spotted, their chances of getting out alive were slim . . . very slim.

Jamous dropped his half-smoked cigarette. "We should get out of here. We'll start to look suspicious if we stay any longer."

They kept walking the direction they were before they stopped and turned right at the adjacent street, back towards the tall buildings in the center of the city.

"We'll go through Old Town to get back to the apartment," Jamous told the three Je'daii. "I want to avoid the main square and busy streets."

"Maybe we should duck into a cantina in Old Town," Tork offered. "See if we pick up any news from the locals as to what's going on."

"Good idea," Jamous replied. "There is a bar in the direction we are headed that many of Hyperion's warehouse workers frequent after their shifts."

As they travelled through Old Town, Jamous observed his surroundings. Giant heaps of trash, junk, and excrement piled up everywhere. Spice addicts and drunkards crowded alleyways and sat on the curbs of the street. They hacked and coughed. It was an abysmal sight; and with the war finally in full swing, it was only going to get worse.

The half-lit, dingey neon sign of Moonwalker Cantina shown before them. It stood out because it was the only lit object on the street. There weren't even any street lights. Jamous looked at the three Je'daii and motioned with his head. All four of them entered the cantina, opening up the scuffed and rusted door and streaming in.

The cantina smelled of piss and beer. It was very dimly lit, and a haze of smoke encompassed the entire room. Music played on blasted out speakers, and there was the low mumble of talking and the clinking of glasses. Aliens of all sorts sat about the open floor, some huddled together and some alone. Those who sat together talked in hushed tones, as if they didn't want anyone to hear what they were talking about. There was a small booth in the back corner that gave the best vantage point of the entire bar. Jamous pointed at it.

"I'll get the drinks," he said as Tork, Dol'tren, and Glena walked towards the booth to claim it as their own.

An old and wrinkled rodian stood behind the bar, and Jamous had to muscle himself in between a burly human and a smelly duros. The duros swore under his breath, and the human gave Jamous a hateful glance. "Give me four glasses of something strong," Jamous told the bartender, ignoring the two patrons on each side of him.

The old rodian grunted and turned around, reaching up for one of the many bottles of hard liquor.

"That's an interesting sword on your back," a voice said to Jamous's left. "Never seen anything like it."

Jamous turned his head toward the direction of the voice and then hid his surprise. At the end of the left side of the bar sat the pockmarked man who had murdered the three people in the main square.

"Thanks," Jamous said flatly. "I found it."

"Sure you did." The pockmarked man didn't look at Jamous. He kept his gaze straight ahead, staring at nothing and taking a sip from his drink.

There was the clack of glass hitting the counter, and Jamous looked back to see the rodian had put out four glasses filled with an amber liquid. He left a credit chip on the counter and muttered his thanks as he grabbed the four glasses. As Jamous turned around to head to the booth, he stole one last glance at the pockmarked man. The man still stared straight ahead, his hooked nose causing an irregular profile in the gloom and smoke of the bar.

Jamous put the glasses down on the booth's table and slid a glass to each Je'daii, keeping one for himself. The three Je'daii appeared to be nonchalant, but Jamous knew they were taking in the entire cantina, watching carefully and listening in on the many different conversations happening all around them.

"The man from the main square," Jamous said, and he took a sip of the drink. It was strong . . . and it tasted like shit. "He's here. Far left side of the bar."

The Je'daiis' demeanors did not change, but Jamous knew they had seen the man. He saw Glena's jaw slightly clench when she saw him.

"We should follow him," she said quietly, but her voice was filled with menace.

"We're not here for him," Tork replied. "We're gathering information on Hyperion Kinetics, remember?"

Glena did not look at him as she replied, "He killed those innocent people. He needs to be brought to justice."

"The children are more important," Dol'tren said, though he kept a constant watch on the pockmarked man.

Jamous studied Glena. She remained inconspicuous, but he could tell: she was going to do what she wanted. He sighed and drank the rest of his drink. It tasted even worse the second time. "Tork and Dol'tren, you stay here. The warehouse workers will be coming through soon. See if you can pick anything up. You probably won't learn much, but at this point, I'll take anything." He looked at Glena. "Glena and I will follow the man from the square if he leaves."

Jamous could see reservation in Dol'tren and Tork's faces, but they said nothing; and a fire burned in Glena's eyes.

Another forty minutes passed when beings of many different races and species wearing Hyperion jumpsuits began to pile into the cramped bar.

"He's leaving, Jamous," Glena said quietly, and when Jamous turned, he saw the pockmarked man shoulder his way through the crowd of new patrons.

Jamous stood. "Let's go."

After they had pushed their way through the now crowded bar, Glena spotted the pockmarked man walking down the way the four of them had come to get to the cantina. She motioned with her head at Jamous, and the two followed him from a distance, trying to look as nondescript as possible.

The man turned on different streets and ducked through alleways, all the while Jamous and Glena followed, careful to stay far enough back and out of sight. The streets were much busier now than they were in the morning, so it was easy to blend in.

The pockmarked man turned left at the end of a long alleyway. When Jamous and Glena peaked around the corner, they saw him walking up to a hooded figure who leaned against the wall near the alleyway exit that opened up into an empty street. The hooded figure saw the pockmarked man and lowered his hood, revealing a twi'lek male. The mysterious twi'lek had scars up and down his face, and his right lekku was missing.

"It went well?" the scarred twi'lek said to the pockmarked man, their voices were somewhat faint from where Jamous and Glena stood out of sight.

"As planned," the pockmarked man replied.

"Here." The twi'lek pulled out a credit chip and handed it to the man. "Your payment. How was the crowd?"

The pockmarked man took the credit chip and slipped into the pocket of his coat. "They were bloodthirsty. It was the biggest reaction I've managed to illicit so far."

It was silent for a moment. "Good," the twi'lek said, breaking the silence. "We will provide you with more people to pawn off as Je'daii. But we need to speed it up. Riots and chaos. To the . . ."

Jamous couldn't hear the rest as Glena whispered in his ear. "They're purposefully inciting hate toward the Je'daii."

"I know," he whispered back. "That twi'lek look familiar to you?"

"No, but that's a Shikaakwan gangster if I've ever seen one."

Jamous held his hand up for her not to talk. "Hold up. Listen to what they're saying right now."

The twi'lek's voice: ". . . and away from the warehouse district, Hyperion Kinetics in particular."

Jamous looked at Glena. "They're connected to Hyperion somehow."

Her eyes shone bright. "It's the Force. It has guided us here."

The two both turned to look back at the pockmarked man and scarred twi'lek, intent on gathering as much information as they could. Jamous and Glena were so focused on the conversation around the corner at the end of the alleyway that they didn't hear the approaching footsteps behind them.

The pockmarked man's voice was faint, but Jamous could still hear him. "Keep the credits coming, and I will—"

"What's this?" a gravelly voice behind Jamous and Glena suddenly called out. They both jerked around to see three burly twi'leks brandishing blaster pistols and rifles. The twi'lek that had startled them was just under two meters, and had dark green, cracked skin. He had a long jagged scar that ran diagonally down his face; his right eye was missing. "Hey, boss," he called out around the corner. "You should end the meeting. Looks like we got some humans who are a little too curious for their own good."

"What are you talking—" Glena shouted at the twi'lek but let out a cry when his meaty hand connected with her face. She fell to the ground with such force that the sound of her hitting the dirty pavement of the alley sounded like it hurt more than the slap.

Jamous mentally kicked himself for not being more aware of his surroundings. He should have known that there might be others patrolling the surrounding area while the meeting took place. The scarred twi'lek with the missing lekku rounded the corner and stopped in front of them. His skin was flushed purple, and there were tribal tattoos across his face. Gold bangles wrapped around his remaining lekku.

Glena weakly lifted herself to her knees and spit out a glob of blood. Jamous bent down to help her up, but she shakedly raised her hand to show she was okay.

"What do we have here?" the scarred twi'lek said with a wicked smile, his teeth were filed to sharp points. The pockmarked man was not with him and nowhere to be seen.

"What should we do with them?" the burly twi'lek asked.

"Take them to the safehouse. Find out what they know." The scarred twi'lek lifted his hood back over his head. "I have more errands to run. I'll meet you there later." He rounded back around the corner and was gone.

"The sword on your back," the one-eyed twi'lek waved his gun at Jamous, "give it to me."

Jamous hesitated. He could kill the first large twi'lek before he would be able to fire off a shot, but there were two more behind him, wielding blaster rifles. And that didn't take into account that Glena was still reeling from the slap to the face that she had just taken. She had only now managed to get back on her feet, and a large black bruise was forming on her left cheek, marring her beautiful features. She could get hit from a stray blaster bolt if Jamous decided to attack now.

Defeatedly, he unsheathed Delroth's sword and handed it to one of the twi'leks behind the burly one.

The big twi'lek pointed his blaster at Glena. "Give me your weapons."

"I don't have any," Glena panted. She looked up defiantly at the twi'lek.

The twi'lek suddenly lashed out, planting a hard punch into Glena's stomach. The strength behind the punch pushed her back against the wall, and she fell to the ground, letting out a cry of pain.

Hot rage sparked in Jamous as one of the other twi'leks bent down and patted Glena down, finding the two short blades she kept sheathed in the small of her back. He wanted to lash out, but the alleyway was too small and cramped. He had to wait.

Jamous bent down and gently helped Glena stand back up. She wheezed slightly, showing that the wind had been knocked out of her. "Are you ok?"

Her eyes watered as she nodded.

The three twi'leks ushered Jamous and Glena through alleyways and streets, deeper into Old Town, until they came across a small, faceless building with a single door. Inside the building was nothing of note: a few chairs and sleep mats. It was dank, dark, and smelled bad. There were two other muscled twi'leks inside when they entered.

"We'll start with the girl," the one-eyed twi'lek said to the now four others. Find out what she knows." He pushed Jamous into the corner of the room and kept his blaster trained on him.

One of the twi'leks that had been in the building already when they had first entered, small with flesh-colored skin and missing fingers, said, "Do we get to have some fun with her once we're done?"

The burly twi'lek with the missing eye smiled deviously and licked his lips. "Possibly."

Another of the twi'leks, this one with light blue skin, started walking toward Glena, who was in the center of the room. "Why wait till after?" he said in a deep voice.

He threateningly drew close to Glena, who seemed to cower back at first but then suddenly shot her hand out with inhuman speed, striking at his face. The blue twi'lek cried out in pain, stumbling backward and falling to one knee as he reached up toward his face. "You won't touch me!" she screamed, holding the blue twi'lek's eye, glistening with blood, in her hand

All the twi'leks, beside the one who had just lost his eye and the one who had his blaster trained on Jamous, swarmed her. She used the Force to push one back hard against the wall. The small twi'lek with the missing fingers rushed her, and she was able to dodge his punch while giving him one of her own.

Jamous used this chance to charge the burly twi'lek with the blaster pointed at him. But this twi'lek was a skilled warrior and a soldier of the Despot Army. He was unphased. Even with the augmented speed of the Force, Jamous was not fast enough. The twi'lek lowered the aim of his blaster and pulled the trigger, shooting a beam of energy into the meat of Jamous's thigh.

Jamous let out a cry and fell to his knees. He looked down at the smoldering hole, rimmed by charred skin and dried blood, in his right leg. He didn't look up in time to see the big twi'lek coming down hard at his face with the handle of his blaster. The pistol whip sent Jamous to the floor.

"Stow that bitch!" the burly twi'lek roared to the other four, and he gave Jamous a thundering kick to the ribs.

Glena had been able to fend off two of the three attacking twi'leks, but the third had taken her down with a full body tackle. They both fell down on the hardwood floor, and the twi'lek rolled on top of her, raining down heavy blows to her face and torso. Glena tried to block as many as she could, but many of the blows connected with sickening thuds.

The pain in Jamous's leg was tremendous. His face throbbed, and his ribs ached. His vision was white with pain. Glena had begun screaming, and he looked up to see the four twi'leks surrounding her, punching and kicking, and tearing at her clothes. The one-eyed twi'lek stood over him, laughing at the scene playing out before them.

Jamous's white vision of pain mutated to that of red rage. He looked up at the burly twi'lek who watched the four, wickedly laughing. Jamous felt a dark power rise up from his stomach and begin to course through his veins. His rage opened up the gates to the dark side of the Force, and he welcomed the oncoming wave with open arms.

The burly twi'lek standing over him suddenly grabbed his stomach and cried out in pain. The four other twi'leks jerked their heads to him just in time to see the one-eyed twi'lek explode into a bloody pulpy mess. The explosion seemed as if it had happened internally, and it flung gore, organs, and body parts all over the room.

All was silent save for the sound of body parts and internal organs slapping the walls and floor, and the four twi'leks and Glena looked in horror at the bloody stump that was once the big twi'lek. Jamous managed to stand back up, favoring his left leg. He was covered in blood and chunks of flesh. "Get your fucking hands off of her," he said in a raspy and menacing voice. He felt as if he had been swallowed whole. The red rage had again mutated . . . into something dark and horrible.

The small twi'lek with the missing fingers suddenly rushed him, but it was for nothing. Jamous reached out with the Force and pulled. The twi'leks fleshed-colored skin flushed pink, and he let out a horrendous scream. There was a snapping sound as the small twi'lek was physically split down the middle with the Force. His howl was cut short as he was pulled in two, and Jamous used the Force to throw the two pieces to either side of the room.

The twi'lek lying directly over Glena was Jamous's next target. He lifted the twi'lek up, and there was a loud thud as the Force pinned the soldier to the ceiling. The twi'lek cried out as blood began to profusely pour out of his eyes, ears, and nose. All of his internal organs suddenly shot out of his mouth like a geyser all over the room. Jamous let go, and his corpse fell down to the ground.

The light blue twi'lek whose eye Glena had taken began to make a break for the exit of the small building, but he had a hard time running across the blood-slicked floor. Jamous lashed out with the Force, crushing the twi'lek's windpipe. His blue skinned face began to turn a deep purple as he gasped for air. Jamous used the Force to lift his suffocating body up and hurled it at the remaining twi'lek. The force of the collision was so strong that it sent them both through the wall of the building, and the snapping of bones harmonized with the rending of durasteel.

All was quiet, and Jamous fell to his knees. He began to crawl across the pulpy mass of internal organs that scattered the room's floor, toward Glena.

"Are you ok?" he asked her when he reached her.

She lay on her back. She was covered in blood and flesh, and her face was badly beaten. When she looked up at Jamous, he saw fear in her eyes. "What are you?"


End file.
